


The Face of the Ministry

by kci47



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Community: sshg_giftfest, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, Sarcastic Hermione, Smartassery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kci47/pseuds/kci47
Summary: Hermione is working at the Ministry and hating her job. Her only solace? Irritating the s**t out of her new coworker - which she does quite well, thank you.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 237
Kudos: 506





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madeleone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeleone/gifts).



“You need Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Level Three. And, er, best of luck with—that,” Hermione stammered, gesturing at the giant Venus fly trap that had sprouted out of the man’s forehead. She made a notation on the blotter in front of her and then glanced up at the next person in line. “Good morning, welcome to the Ministry of Magic! How may I direct you today?”

So went the rest of the day, until twenty-seven after five rolled around and Hermione clocked out. She rode the lift up to Whitehall and merged seamlessly with the streams of Muggles on their way home. While she walked, she contemplated what she would do for supper tonight. She’d had Thai takeaway last night, and Greek the night before that. Perhaps tonight would shift back to Italian? Not that she had a _schedule_ , per se, simply... Well, simply that cooking for one was a bit depressing, and pointless to boot. Why bother when there were so very many delightful little restaurants on her way home? 

Except, did it make her pathetic if she was resorting to takeaway every night? “No, it doesn’t matter,” she said sternly to herself, ignoring the woman next to her who looked appalled at her sudden outburst. Sighing, she turned and navigated towards Grimmauld Place, instead.

* * *

“Harry? Ginny? Kreacher? Anyone home?” Hermione called as she entered Number Twelve. She hung her jacket on a hook near the door and headed for the stairs. Entering the kitchen, she saw Luna sitting on the table, meditating. Since she’d learned long ago to leave Luna to her zen, Hermione busied herself with making tea. She sat at the far end of the table and idly flipped through a few horticulture journals while she sipped. Eventually, Luna straightened and her gaze focused on Hermione. 

“Hello,” Luna said, unfolding her legs and hopping off the table to fix herself a cup of tea as well. 

“Hi, Luna,” Hermione answered. “Is anyone else home tonight?”

“I’m afraid it’s just me,” Luna replied, settling down next to Hermione. Too close, if Hermione was being brutally honest, but then again Luna didn’t seem to understand personal space and Hermione was too tired to remind her. 

“Another public appearance?” Hermione guessed.

“What else?” Luna replied, somewhat grumpily. Hermione smiled. Ron’s constant absences left Luna all out of sorts, now that they were dating. “At least I hear Constantinople is miserable this time of year.”

Hermione seriously doubted that was true, but she knew better than to argue. Ever since the end of the war, the Ministry had been demanding more and more of Ron and Harry’s time. While Hermione did not precisely love her current role, she still thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t been assigned public appearance duty like the boys. 

“...and a niffler a day, I always say,” Luna finished. Then she sighed and turned to Hermione. “But enough about me. Is your job going any better since you started taking the crushed anemone supplement I gave you?”

“Er—no. I mean, yes. The supplement has helped immensely, Luna, thank you.” Hermione schooled her expression into one that she hoped looked genuine. She had learned the hard way never to ingest anything Luna provided. 

“It’s certainly improved your complexion,” Luna noted. 

Hermione forced her smile to remain as she gritted out “Thank you.” Then she exhaled sharply. “I don’t know, Luna. It’s just that I’d imagined doing more, _being_ more. I’m not sure how much more of _this_ I can take.”

Luna nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure they’ll relent soon. It’s been nearly three years, that certainly ought to be enough of this nonsense.”

Hermione hummed her agreement, but inwardly, she doubted the Ministry would let her off the hook that soon. She had destroyed Gringotts, after all, among other...indiscretions. Filling in as the official greeter at the Ministry seemed like a relatively small price to pay, all things considered.

Luna stood and gathered her tea things. “Oh well. At least your assistant will begin soon, and then you’ll have someone with which to pass the time.”

Hermione spewed out the sip of tea she’d just taken. “Assistant? What?”

“Didn’t they tell you?” Luna asked. Hermione glared while she mopped up the table. “I take it from your face that’s a no. How typical. I’m sure it was merely an oversight...” She trailed off and glanced around, clearly looking for escape. 

“Who?” Hermione whispered. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Luna replied, scooting towards the door. 

“Who?” Hermione repeated, standing now.

“I’m probably wrong—there’s no reason you would need a protégé—this has all just been a misunderstanding!” Luna called as she bolted out of the kitchen and fled up the stairs.

Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples. Maybe she did need that crushed anemone after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione detoured by her favorite coffee shop the following morning on her way to work. She'd spent a restless night replaying her conversation with Luna in her head, and her thoughts chased themselves around and around the same inevitable conclusion: her new counterpart was bound to be someone unpleasant or else Luna would simply have told her who it was. Her sense of foreboding had only grown as dawn approached, and since sleep was eluding her, she'd gone for a jog and spent more time than usual on her appearance before leaving her flat. Now she was bolstering herself with her favorite peppermint mocha–a rare indulgence given that the Ministry wasn't paying her.

She sipped her beverage as she trudged the final leg to work. All her nighttime ponderings had left her with just a few possible options: Draco, his father, or some other Death Eater. It stood to reason that if the Ministry was forcing HER to work off an imagined debt to society, they might have offered the same deal to a Voldemort follower in the spirit of redemption. She sighed as she entered the lift, and for good measure, sighed heavily again before the doors opened. Mentally she chanted her personal mantra: _You are Hermione fucking Granger, and you can handle anything!_

* * *

"Hermione _bloody_ Granger, have you lost your mind?" Severus Snape's exclamation seemed to fill the entire Ministry atrium, and even though Hermione was flabbergasted by his presence, she still registered a speck of admiration for his ability to own a room.

Even when he was in the midst of throwing a tantrum.

"Of all the dunderheaded, flobberwormed brain hiccups this Wizengamot has produced over the years, this is by the far the most disgustingly asinine..." Professor Snape–well, no, was he just Mr. Snape now?–went on with his diatribe and Hermione felt a moment's pity for the Ministry official on the receiving end. Only a moment's worth, however. Personally she wished she was capable of issuing insults with the same flair and disdain as Snape.

Since it seemed that he was content to go on without bothering to acknowledge her–aside from his initial outburst–she set about readying her station for the day, the routine helping to calm her racing heart. Visitor log, check. Ministry directory, check. Quill and extra quill, check and check. _Severus bloody Snape, unfortunately...check._ She must have sighed again, though, because suddenly Snape's obsidian eyes swung around to fasten on her.

"And _you_. I should have known you'd grow up to become nothing more than a simpering Ministry toady incapable of original thought or purpose. Let me guess, this cushy job was handed to you on a silver platter by The Boy Who Lived himself." His lips twisted in a sneer and Hermione bit back the sudden urge to tell him that if he kept making that face, it was likely to stick.

Instead, she merely took her seat and pretended to straighten her visitor log. "Thank you for the warm welcome, Professor. I am just as overjoyed to be working with you as you are with me." Hermione mentally congratulated herself on her even tone and decided to treat herself to a fancy dinner that evening. She added a wide, phony smile for good measure.

Snape's eyes narrowed and her smile turned genuine. He glared at the Ministry employee who was backing away slowly. "I expect to see your superior here within five minutes," he warned, and the employee nodded before bolting. Hermione watched as Snape began stalking back and forth across the width of the hall. He reminded her of the caged jaguars at the zoo, except for his barely-perceptible limp. She felt her usual sense of sympathy start to swell.

"How would you like for me to address you?" she asked, attempting to make small talk before the next Ministry employee arrived to be dressed down.

"Irrelevant," he snapped, not bothering to look at her as he continued to pace.

"Interesting, but okay," she answered, glancing down at her schedule for the day. Let's see—oh yes, another full nine hours of handling anyone and everyone who entered the Ministry. Hermione drained the rest of her mocha, wishing she had another.

Just then the next unfortunate Ministry peon arrived. It was Melvin Finklebaum, the same wizard who had delivered Hermione's own sentence, and she couldn't wait to watch as Snape eviscerated him. Hermione smirked as he missed a step when Snape whirled to glare at him, and she settled in for what promised to be a _very_ entertaining encounter.

"Good morning—"

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy ballsack do you mean by assigning me to THIS post?" Snape roared, and Hermione bit back her laughter.

"Professor, perhaps we could—"

"I'm no longer a professor, you niffler-headed Squib, or couldn't you tell by the fact that I appear to be working _here_?" He gestured towards Hermione and the table. She smiled wanly at Melvin when he nervously looked over.

"Yes. Of course. I'm sorry, Prof—er, Mr. Snape. Severus? I'm not sure what you'd like—"

"He'd prefer to be called Irrelevant," Hermione interjected helpfully. When both men glanced at her, she added, "I already asked." She swore a vein in Snape's forehead pulsed, and she had the unbidden sense that needling him was going to be so much fun.

Snape pushed past the other man and strode towards the minister's office. Hermione waggled her fingers in a small wave as Melvin cast her a startled glance and then took off after Snape. Hermione sat back in her chair and caught herself humming as she awaited the first visitor of the day. There was no way that anyone could withstand the brunt of Snape's displeasure, and she seriously doubted that he would be back to her little table any time soon.

* * *

As it turned out, Snape _was_ back, and rather soon to boot. Melvin's look was smug as he walked a sullen Snape back to the check-in table two hours later and left him to his fate. Hermione had a line of visitors eight deep, so she barely had a chance to glance at her new partner, but she gathered from the stormy look on his face that the Ministry had browbeat him into submission the same way they had with her. She felt marginally sorry for him; that is, until he sat silently for the entire day and refused to assist any of their visitors. She was used to the workload, but it was vexing in the extreme to finally have a helper who refused to help.

Finally, she reached the last person in line. Mrs. Babblebrook was a daily visitor. "Apparition Testing is on Level Six, but as I mentioned yesterday—" and the seventeen days before that, but who was counting— "there is a waiting period of two months between test attempts." Hermione closed the visitor's log with a snap and stood, knowing from experience that if she didn't leave now while she had the chance, there would be a few stragglers making their way in and trying to cajole her to let them through.

"Are we done for the day?"

Snape's voice was so unexpected after several hours of silence that Hermione jumped. Attempting to cover her reaction by grabbing her bag, she shrugged. " _I'm_ done. I've no idea whether you're done or not, seeing as you never started." Hermione made a beeline for the lifts, her mind already on the delicious meal she had promised herself this morning. To her utter shock, Snape stepped into the lift right after her. Telling herself he was simply escaping the confines of the Ministry as well, she stared resolutely forward as they rose up to Whitehall. She could tell by the reflection on the wall that he was glowering again. When the gates opened, she stepped out and marched ahead, afraid that if she looked back she would see Snape keeping pace with her. By the time she arrived at her restaurant, however, she was alone.

And confused as to why that was suddenly disappointing.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week passed in much the same manner as it had before Snape arrived. He never spoke, simply showed up just before her shift started, and then left with her at the end of the day. Hermione found it comical that the Ministry was clearly not getting their money's worth out of him, but seeing as she wasn't all that enamored with the Ministry herself, she didn't bother to do say anything to Snape about his dismal performance.

On Friday, Hermione's good mood couldn't be spoiled by her dour tablemate—Harry and Ron were home, and the lot of them were gathering at The Burrow for dinner and a weekend sleepover. They tried to spend a few weekends together a year, and Molly was only too happy to host all of "her" children. Their numbers had grown as time went on, expanding to include Luna, Neville, some of Ron and Harry's friends from the Aurory, plus all the assorted Weasley children and their increasing numbers of offspring.

So she left her post at the end of the day with a spring in her step, and as they rode the lift up and out of the Ministry, Hermione blurted out, "Have a nice weekend!"

Snape merely turned his head to stare at her. "Don't tell me what to do," he hissed.

For some reason this struck Hermione as hilariously funny, and she couldn't help laughing. As the gates opened, she said, "Well, then, have a...weekend. Of whatever type you prefer." She was still chuckling as she strode down the sidewalk to the her flat. She couldn't wait to see her friends' reactions when she told them her new coworker was Severus bloody Snape.

* * *

"Git's a wanker, I always said," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"We know, Ronald," Hermione replied, eyeing her own platter and trying to decide where to start. Weekends at the Weasleys' always involved copious amounts of food and, now that they were all firmly out of school, quite a lot of Firewhisky as well. Hermione had worried initially that Molly wouldn't take kindly to her presence following their break-up; but Ron's quick recovery and subsequent relationship with Luna seemed to have soothed any tension. And besides, Hermione had saved the arse of more than one Weasley during the war—Molly considered her an honorary Weasley and that was more than good enough.

"So they really put Snape to work at the front desk?" George shook his head and chuckled. "Might have to stop in myself one day just for the pleasure."

"We're not a circus act," Hermione pointed out, suddenly feeling cross. "He's being punished by the Ministry, too, just as much as I am."

Conversation came to a dead stop and everyone looked uncomfortably at their plates. George had the good grace to look chagrined but it was Harry who livened the mood. "At least you didn't fall arse over teakettle last week when a niffler jumped out and scared you!"

Ron choked on his drink and glared at Harry. "It was coming for my face!"

"It was ten meters away from you at least," Harry countered, grinning.

"Really? I supposed I should have acted as cool and composed as YOU did when those Quidditch players asked for an autograph a few weeks back," Ron said. He turned to the rest of the table and muttered sotto voce, "Introduced himself as Parry Otter."

"Funny, that's my stripper name," George deadpanned, and Molly whacked him on the back of the head. Conversation resumed around the table as they all enjoyed their meal and the company. Hermione felt a niggling sense that both she and Snape had been insulted; and she also felt strongly averse to feeling as if she and her former professor were any sort of team. The man had barely spoken to her all week, and when he had, his words had not been kind. Still...there was something about being assigned to the same drudgery that tied them together, whether she liked it or not. And it was only that she didn't like George making fun of her by association that had her hackles up. That had to be it.

That sorted, Hermione didn't give Snape another thought for the remainder of the weekend.

* * *

On Monday morning, Hermione stepped into the atrium and came to a screeching stop. Snape was already sitting at the table, and, from the looks of it, he had already set out her supplies. She noted the visitor's log and quills lined up neatly in the middle of the table. She felt her brows raise but she quickly schooled her expression when he looked up.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'Good morning', but remembering their very brief conversation in the lift on Friday, she held back. Instead she set her things down and scooted the visitor's log over to her side of the table. She rearranged the quills a few times, unsure why she was feeling this surge of nervous energy. Perhaps she was just adjusting back to her daily grind after her glorious weekend with her friends...yes, that had to be it. She was no longer a child; Severus Snape couldn't intimidate her with his mere presence.

Beside her, Snape cleared his throat. Hermione kept her gaze unfocused on the hallway in front of them, willing herself to appear deep in thought. He made a second sound in his throat, and, vaguely curious if he was choking on something, Hermione turned to look. No—he appeared hale and healthy, if mildly annoyed. She turned back to staring at the hall.

Snape exhaled loudly—Hermione wouldn't go so far as to call it a sigh—and then he spoke. "I can assist today. If you will place the visitor list in the middle."

Now Hermione did allow her eyebrows to rise. "You want to help?" she asked, knowing she sounded incredulous.

"Want to? Merlin, no. However, I will."

Hermione felt a smile forming. "While I appreciate your _very_ selfless and not-at-all-reluctant offer, I have this quite under control, thank you."

She could practically hear him grinding his teeth together. "I insist," he said.

"Oh, well, in that case." Hermione shoved the visitor's log, directory, and quills to his side of the table. "Perhaps I'll take a turn being sullen and mute, yeah? This will be a nice change of pace, thank you." And she settled back in her chair, closed her eyes, and waited.

She heard Snape huff out a breath and it took all her willpower to keep her eyes closed. Even more so when a commotion heralded their first visitor of the day, and it sounded like a doozy.

"I need the spell reversal department!" someone shrieked. Snape didn't respond, but she heard him flipping through the directory. He must not have been moving fast enough, though, because the shrieking just became more frantic. "Well? Hurry up! Spell reversal! For Merlin's sake, MY SON WON'T STOP PUKING SLUGS!"

Hermione bit back her laugh. She could hear Snape's growl and a more frenzied page-turning than before. After another moment, he addressed her. "Miss Granger. A little help?"

She cracked an eye open. "On Friday, you specifically told me not to tell you what to do."

Snape's lips pressed together momentarily, but all he said was, "Well, now I am asking."

Hermione opened her eyes all the way and sat up. "So, I should only assist you when you expressly ask? Got it." She nodded once for good measure.

The witch in front of them glared at Hermione, then Snape, then barked, "SPELL REVERSAL!"

Hermione sighed. "Have you tried a Finite?"

Affronted, the woman replied, "Of course I tried a Finite Incantatem, why do you think I'm here?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare to presume," Hermione answered, smiling and trying to look vacuous. "You need the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad on Level Three, but next time, some treacle fudge will fix him right up." She smiled again and waved as the woman marched her son away. "Have a lovely day!" she called. Settling back into her chair, she grabbed the visitor's log and made the entry before setting it back in front of a frowning Snape.

There was a weighted pause before he spoke. "I did not think it was possible, but you are even more impertinent now than you were in school."

Hermione beamed at him. "Thank you!"

"That was not a compliment," he muttered, but Hermione grinned again.

"I'm taking it as one," she told him before leaning her head back and closing her eyes again.

As he grumbled to himself, Hermione thought back to her impressions on his first day. And she was pleased to note that it was indeed a great deal of fun to aggravate him.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Hermione came prepared with a neck pillow. She greeted Snape with exaggerated enthusiasm because she knew it annoyed him, and then she settled in for a nice nap while he dealt with their queue line. Unbeknownst to him, second Tuesdays were broom registration days, so the line was long from the moment their shift started until nearly the end of the day. At one point he was moving through them so quickly—“Broom Regulatory Committee, Level Six”—that it became a constant refrain, and she actually did nod off to the steady murmur of his voice.

She woke when he kicked her chair. He said, “Sorry to wake you” with such obvious glee that she was certain it had been on purpose. Stretching, she eyed the line and heaved a sigh. They’d never make it through, even at Snape’s quick rate. She motioned for the next person to step forward, and they worked in tandem for the last two hours of the day. Finally, the last wizard was out of sight, and Hermione stood to work out the kinks in her back.

“How do you stand it?” he asked.

Hermione was so surprised, she just stared at him for a moment. This, too, seemed to annoy him, although she wasn’t sure why.

“The monotony,” he snapped, clearly out of patience with her. “How do you stand the monotony, day in and day out?”

She tilted her head as she considered. “I play games in my head,” she admitted. “For instance...will there be more or less than twelve wizards who shout at me today? How many witches in crimson robes will there be? I make guesses and then I see if I’m close.” She shrugged. “And of course I have my small aggressions. Telling people I hope they have the day that they deserve, that sort of thing.”

Snape jerked his head once in what Hermione could only assume was a nod. She gathered her things and headed for the lifts, his footsteps beside her comforting for once instead of anxiety-producing. They <i>had</i> been a team today, after all, and she found herself feeling more charitable towards him.

Until he opened his mouth again.

“I suppose this job fulfills your inflated sense of celebrity,” he mused.

Hermione glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I noticed how many people asked you for autographs, or wanted to know about Potter,” he said. When she just continued to glare, his expression turned into a full smirk. “Granted, it must sting that they did not take you along for the Great Apology Tour, but I can tell you’ve found some measure of satisfaction in being recognized so much here.”

“For your information,” Hermione bit out, “it is not an _apology_ tour. It’s a publicity circus, and Ron and Harry had no more choice in the matter than I did in my own form of indentured servitude.” The gates slid open and Hermione marched out, but she turned before they parted to add, “I would think _you_ of all people might know exactly how that feels.”

And then she strode off down the street, congratulating herself on having the last word.

* * *

Snape was blessedly silent the next day, and the one after. Oh, he dealt with his half of the visitor line, that was true; but he didn’t say anything to her, which was how she preferred it.

And perhaps if she kept telling herself that, she might come to believe it.

By Friday, Hermione had decided to call it a companionable silence. They didn’t address one another, but he always seemed to have a quill ready when hers broke, and she would often slide the directory to him, open to the page he needed, before he had to ask. All things considered, Hermione thought it was about as good as could be expected.

Until Melvin arrived just before closing with her time parchment. Sighing, Hermione dutifully entered her hours for the past two weeks before handing it back. “How much is left?” she asked. She asked him every time they did this, and the answer never seemed to change overly much.

“Six thousand, two hundred forty,” Melvin replied. He tried not to smile but the resulting expression made him look constipated.

Hermione nodded and stared at her fingernails while Snape filled out his parchment.

“Give me a moment to calculate your remaining time with us, Mr. Snape,” Melvin began, but Snape cut him off.

“I’m not interested.”

“It will only take a minute—”

“I would hate for you to tax yourself,” Snape deadpanned, and Hermione snorted. Melvin studied them, clearly trying to figure out if he was being laughed at, but Hermione merely gave him her vaguest smile and Snape simply glared.

“Very well then. I assume you can do the math yourself if you’re interested.”

“Ah, and we all know what happens when you assume.” Snape stood and gestured back towards Melvin’s office. Still confused, Melvin took a few steps, paused, then took a few more. “Have a...weekend,” Snape offered, gesturing again. Actually, it was more of a shooing motion. Hermione stifled a laugh.

As soon as Melvin was out of sight, she fairly cackled. “That was brilliant,” she said, laughing some more. “I’m rubbing off on you, I think.”

“Dear Dumbledore, I hope not,” Snape replied, but his tone was warmer than usual, and she didn’t think he meant it as an insult. Still chuckling, Hermione gathered her things and then waited as Snape packed away their quills. They walked to the lift in silence, and this time Hermione _knew_ it was companionable. Once they were on their journey upwards, he spoke. “How many hours did you start with?”

“Thirteen thousand,” Hermione replied quietly. It was a staggering number, to be sure. She still vividly remembered the day the Wizengamot had handed down her “community service” sentence. She could remember the ugly puce robes they wore, the outbursts from the audience—the witches and wizards who were outraged on her behalf. At the time, five years had seemed an eternity; now, it all sort of blurred together, which she supposed was a blessing. A small one, mind you, but one nonetheless.

“Well. More than halfway there, then,” Snape said conversationally, and Hermione smiled at him.

Perhaps it was growing into more of a silver lining after all.


	5. Chapter 5

From that point on, Snape was civil, if not particularly loquacious. She still took opportunities to irritate him, but she also made sure to bring him an espresso whenever she stopped at the coffee shop on the way in. By unspoken agreement, they avoided inane small talk, anything war-related, or mentions of Potter and Weasley. Primarily their conversations consisted of laughing at the more, ah, colorful of their visitors or berating the Ministry’s numerous inefficiencies. All in all, Snape’s presence improved Hermione’s job considerably, as she was no longer quite so bored for nine to ten hours per day.

One morning towards the end of October, Hermione set a tin of muffins down on Snape’s side of the table before busying herself with getting ready for the day. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Snape examined the tin closely before lifting the lid. He studied the contents, then replaced the lid and intoned, “If you want to poison me, you’ll have to try harder.”

Hermione snickered. “If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to attempt it.” She nudged the tin closer to him. “Go on. They’re just muffins. I’m tinkering with a cranberry-orange recipe for the hols and I could use an honest opinion.”

“I don’t eat experimental food.”

“Oh, for the love of—would you just have a taste? I think the citrus comes on too strong...” Plopping down into her chair, Hermione opened the tin and grabbed a muffin. She took a bite and closed her eyes, hoping it would magnify her sense of taste. When she opened her eyes, she looked at him. “I tried to balance it with some nutmeg—”

“Were you raised by trolls or do you always masticate with your mouth open?” His disdain was clear, but she smirked as he finally reached for a muffin and sniffed it. “The citrus is far too strong, and nutmeg is not the appropriate modifier. Have you considered yogurt? Perhaps some walnuts?” He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

_Chewed thoughtfully?_ Hermione shook herself. She had clearly not slept enough last night if her brain was supplying phrases like ‘chewed thoughtfully’. Hermione swallowed before replying, since she hadn’t in actuality been raised by trolls.

“Fleur is allergic to nuts, so I’ll have to stay away from the walnuts,” she said. “But I’ll try the yogurt. Thank you.” She indicated the tin. “You can take these home if you’d like.”

“The failure batch?” He quirked one eyebrow at her, but when she started to reach for the tin his hand snaked out and he grabbed it first. “Nevertheless...”

Hermione hid her smile. After she finished her muffin, she tidied her workspace and readied herself for their day. It was another heavy-traffic day: Wizengamot hearings would be held over the course of the next several days. She hated these days above all else, and she wished she’d had the fortitude to call in sick and leave Snape to deal with it himself. Alas, she wasn’t Slytherin enough.

But when the lift opened and the first visitors of the day stepped out, Hermione panicked. It was Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson and their barrister. Before she had a chance to think it over, she flicked a Disillusionment Charm in Snape’s direction and hissed, “Don’t make a sound!” Then she straightened and affected her most prim demeanor as the small group approached.

“Hello, and welcome to the Ministry of Magic. How may I direct you?” she asked cheerfully. As if she and everyone else in the wizarding world didn’t know.

“We’re here to meet with the Minister,” Mr. Parkinson informed her, his expression snide.

“Of course,” Hermione replied, pretending to scan the directory. She took her time writing their names on the visitor’s log, inordinately pleased when Mrs. Parkinson began tapping her foot impatiently. “Your destination is Courtroom Six. The Minister is expecting you,” she told them, and just as Mrs. Parkinson started to smirk, she added, “given that he’ll be ruling on your sentence today.” Mrs. Parkinson’s face pinched. Hermione gestured towards the hallway and trilled, “Have a magical day!”

“I despise you, you know,” Mrs. Parkinson seethed as they walked past.

“And I, you,” Hermione responded, smiling sweetly and giving them a little wave.

Once they were gone, Hermione heaved a sigh and slumped back in her chair. “I really hate court days,” she said. Then she remembered Snape was invisible, and she swished her fingers again to stop the spell. Snape was staring directly at her, and Hermione worried that she’d violated some sort of personal boundary when she’d cast the charm on him. “I’m so sorry about that, I saw them and just reacted,” she babbled. Snape was still staring at her, his expression difficult to read.

After Voldemort’s fall, the majority of his supporters had “repented”, for lack of a better word. Some had donated time and money to rebuilding efforts, others had established scholarship funds...but some, like the Parkinsons, had persisted in being blights on society. Their first order of business had been disowning Pansy after she publicly apologized to Harry. Subsequently they had also spoken out, rather harshly, about Severus Snape’s “duplicitous” behavior. Never mind that Snape had kept Pansy safe at Hogwarts; in their eyes, he was the lowest form of traitor.

In any case, the gears of justice moved slowly with the Ministry, but they had finally gotten around to hearing cases against the remainder of Voldemort’s staunchest allies. Hermione expected the Parkinsons would receive a hefty fine and some form of community service, not unlike herself and Snape. She wondered who else was going to trot through the doors today...

“You hid me from them.” Snape’s voice surprised her out of her musings.

“Yes, well, I didn’t think you deserved to be subjected to their vitriol today,” Hermione answered, frowning slightly. “Or any day, for that matter.”

He didn’t respond, but she could feel his eyes on her. It felt invasive, as if he were probing her thoughts—but she knew he couldn’t, not if she wasn’t making eye contact. Still, she couldn’t repress a small shiver.

“You didn’t use a wand.” Again, it was a statement, not a question, but Hermione answered anyway.

“No.”

“How?”

She rolled her eyes, the tension breaking. “Wandless magic, perhaps you’ve heard of it?” She shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Lesson number one: No foolish wand-waving.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up as though he was thinking about smiling.

Of course that was the moment that Melvin arrived. “Has someone been doing magic over here?” he demanded. He didn’t wait for their answer. “Because, as I’m sure you are both aware, neither one of you is supposed to be using magic while you’re at work.”

Surprised, Hermione glanced at Snape and found him staring steadily back at her. She looked back at Melvin. “I don’t see how we could have, with no wands,” she said, widening her eyes in an attempt to look helpless. Then she let her mouth fall open in an exaggerated O. She leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think it could have been Mrs. Parkinson cursing us? Now that you mention it, I _did_ feel something as she passed by.” She looked at Snape and tried to convey to him that he should play along.

“Miss Granger is correct. I, too, felt...something...in Mrs. Parkinson’s presence.”

Hermione bit her tongue to keep herself from smiling and giving them away. She looked back at Melvin. “I’m feeling unwell. It must be the effects of whatever she cursed us with. Maybe we should go home for the rest of the day?”

Melvin frowned. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You know where the Spell Reversal department is.” He shook his head and marched off.

“Well, it was worth a try,” she muttered.

“A valiant effort,” Snape agreed.

Hermione fidgeted in the ensuing silence. It wasn’t that she was _embarrassed_ at being caught out without her wand; it was more that...well...she supposed it was more that they were probably both embarrassed. Mutual humiliation so rarely made for a good conversation starter.

“What do they have on you?” Snape asked after a bit.

She frowned. “It’s been spelled out in the _Prophet_ several times.”

“I am asking you. I don’t trust anything that rag publishes.”

“Well, at least Nagini didn’t destroy your judgment,” she quipped. Then she cringed. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“Impertinent?”

Hermione’s lips twitched, but did her best to look sheepish. “Yes?” Sighing, she relented and started listing off her laundry list of crimes. “Destruction of public property. Destruction of private property. Impersonating Bellatrix Lestrange. Larceny, grand larceny, theft—they dropped the extortion charge—breaking and entering, burglary. Obstruction. Aiding and abetting known fugitives. General Crimes against Wizardkind. And my personal favorite, Accessory to the Use of an Unforgivable.” She rolled her eyes. “All told—five years of indentured servitude and no wand.”

Snape nodded, almost sympathetically. When he looked at her, she felt her cheeks flush. She didn’t dare ask him what he was here for, but her mind simply refused to come up with anything else to say.

Thankfully, he stepped into the breach. “I apologize for insinuating you were here for the fame. I realized my error soon after.”

Shocked, Hermione just waved her hand as if it were nothing. Severus Snape had just apologized to her—and genuinely meant it. If she’d been rendered mute before, she was doubly so now. They sat in silence while Hermione urged her brain to come up with some other, less-contentious topic. But it seemed that Snape wasn’t overly interested in changing the subject. In fact, he was reminding her of a niffler with a necklace in the way that he wouldn’t let this drop.

“Your wandless spell was very strong,” he said.

“Thank you,” she answered. She _really_ didn’t want to go down this path...

“Very strong,” he repeated, pinning her with his stare. Hermione resisted the urge to fidget. She figured the best way to squash this particular conversation was with brutal honesty.

“I had a lot of practice while I was on the run from Death Eaters,” she stated. Any mention of that awful year usually shut people up quickly. They were curious, yes, but they mostly wanted to know about the “action” parts, not the months and months of drudgery. Not the crushing boredom mixed with constant anxiety...the fear and loneliness...the hunger, the cold, the doubt.

But Snape was undeterred. _Damn it._

“It’s just that it’s uncommon for a witch or wizard of your age to be so successfully self-taught,” he pressed.

Hermione just shrugged. What did he want from her? A confession that she was pretty bloody powerful, thankyouverymuch? Or did he want her to demure and pretend that she’d learned the skill from someone else? He was probably hoping to catch her out in more misbehavior, the wanker. She crossed her arms in mutinous silence.

“What else are you capable of, I wonder,” he murmured, almost to himself. Hermione became very interested in the scrollwork along the ceiling. She could feel his eyes on her, probing for answers, but she’d rather be Crucio’d than admit the depth of her abilities to him. He would think she was bragging and then he’d make her life miserable for the next two and a half years.

He carefully rearranged the quills in front of him and lapsed into silence. Hermione doubted he’d decided to let this drop, however. Instead, she had the distinct impression that he was waiting her out, and that he had every confidence he would emerge victorious.

There was nothing she loved more than proving someone wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

Snape tried—unsuccessfully—for several days to trip Hermione up. He’d wait until she was distracted, or flustered, and then spring a question on her. “What other wandless spells can you perform?” “Have you attempted a Stupefy?” “Shall we Apparate home tonight?” and the like. Hermione was proud to say he hadn’t managed to best her yet, however. She knew he thought he was being clever, but she wasn’t a total ninny. Which he would know if the foolish man bothered to pay attention...

Besides, Hermione had a deeper problem on her hands. She was coming to _like_ Snape, as a person. Certainly, he was a bit ill-tempered. Peevish. Downright cantankerous...and yet, beneath the gloomy façade, he was whip-smart and had a wry sense of humor that matched her own. Hermione no longer viewed him as her professor but as slightly more of a peer—at least insomuch as they were temporarily serving court-ordered time together. She had no illusions that he would ever bear her presence outside of Ministry walls, but _knowing_ that reality and _accepting_ it were two different things. She was beginning to think he was unwillingly one of her best friends, and try as she might, she couldn’t seem to think of a viable solution.

Realizing her time with him like this was limited, Hermione endeavored to enjoy it. She needled him at every opportunity, and tried to ignore her hurt on days when he was especially foul-tempered. They had fallen into an easy routine during their days together, and she went out of her way to find intriguing conversational topics for the downtime between visitors. He was teaching her, likely far more than he realized, about the history of magic and potions and Hogwarts and all sorts of fascinating topics.

For his part, Snape didn’t seem to mind her philosophical questions, and if her mouth ran away from her sometimes, he had stopped pointing it out. He had come to trust her at least enough to fetch him cups of coffee, and she rather thought that maybe she was becoming his friend, too. Perhaps it was because she had become complacent in his presence that she finally let down her guard one Friday late in the fall.

Hermione had just gotten back from her midmorning trot to the cafeteria for coffee when she realized she’d forgotten Snape’s splash of cream. Sighing, she didn’t even think twice about her audience—she simply confirmed there were no Ministry officials in the vicinity and then Accio’d a small pot of cream. Handing it to Snape, she realized her mistake the moment she saw the look in his eyes. He raised one eyebrow at her and accepted the cream.

She bit her lip as she focused on her own beverage. The silence seemed to stretch interminably, her thoughts tumultuous in her head. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

“So,” Snape drawled, his coffee prepared to his liking now.

“So,” Hermione replied, taking a long sip of hers. She could wait him out all day, and then tomorrow, she could—she could—

“Got tired of doing things the Muggle way, hm?”

“I’m Muggleborn, if you’ve forgotten; so no, I don’t mind doing things ‘the Muggle way’, as you say,” she retorted.

“Right. Understandably, a witch of your...particular talent...would balk at the restrictions put on your magic by the Ministry,” he said, and she rather thought his attempts at sounding sympathetic were awful. Somehow, it sounded like he was insulting her. She pressed her lips together and refused to look at him.

“I can imagine what a trial it’s been for you. No wand...no magic...just plain, old Hermione Granger, reduced to nothing more than a secretary—”

“I’m not old,” she said. Throwing caution to the wind, she muttered, “That’s _you_.”

“You’re not plain, either,” Snape replied. Hermione almost glanced at him—just to see if he was being sincere—but she tipped her chin up and firmed her resolve.

“I am a secretary, though,” she said.

“Not by choice.”

“Regardless.”

Snape finished his coffee with a long swig, then stood and held his hand out for her cup. “I’ll take these to the rubbish—unless you wanted to Vanish yours?”

Hermione still refused to look at him. Hunching her shoulders protectively, she said, “I’m still finishing, thank you.”

“You emptied your mug in the first two gulps.”

“No, I didn’t.” She didn’t have to look into her cup to know he was right, blast it. But she felt it was important to stand her ground.

Snape actually huffed out a laugh before ambling off to the rubbish bin. Hermione allowed her shoulders to slump, and she rubbed her temple while she debated what to say. Yes, she could do wandless magic; yes, she was quite good at it; no, the Ministry did _not_ need to know.

When he rejoined her, she could feel his eyes on her. She stared resolutely ahead. “I’d thank you to keep your earlier observation to yourself,” she said primly.

“Obviously,” he replied.

“I’m hardly the first person who has, er, bent the Ministry’s decrees a bit.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” he remarked. Damn him, he sounded amused.

“You can’t tell me _you_ haven’t done a bit of magic here and there since they took your wand.”

“Ah, but we’re talking about you,” he said. She heard the rustling of him resettling himself in his seat. “Pray tell, have you found any limitations yet? Anything you can’t do without a wand?”

“Psh. There are plenty of wands available if you know where to go.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them.

“Doesn’t the Ministry simply repossess them as you use them?” he asked. He seemed genuinely interested, not accusatory.

Hermione paused. Her brain scurried for an answer that wouldn’t raise any further questions...but no, it was hopeless. He would know that she was lying. She decided they were on solid enough footing now that she could confide in him without his running off to Melvin. “Oh, no. I purchased them from—shall we say _unapproved_ sources—and then I did a bit of work to ensure that they don’t utilize my own magical signature. Sort of a Polyjuiced wand, if you will. But I don’t dare to use them outside of my home, or Harry’s.” She finally slid her gaze in his direction, trying to judge his reaction.

There was a long pause as Severus stared at her, apparently at a loss. When he did speak, his voice was incredulous: “Do you mean to tell me that you tampered with _wand_ magic?”

Hermione tilted her head as she replied, “Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t?”

“I—that is—I have never heard of—how did you even—” he spluttered, making Hermione laugh. He was unable to pursue any questioning, however, as the next several hours brought them a steady stream of visitors. Before she knew it, it was near the end of their workday, and she could escape without any further deep revelations. However, she was a bit sad that it would be a full two and a half days before Snape could interrogate her some more. She had rather enjoyed shocking him so thoroughly.

They tidied up their work station quickly, and then Hermione faced him. “Well, have a good—er, that is, goodbye until Monday,” she amended.

Snape’s gaze bored into hers. It was the first time she could recall him looking at her as if he hadn’t already come to every conclusion he had about her, and she felt a shiver race through her nerves.

“I wonder if they knew what they were doing when they repossessed your wand,” Snape mused.

“I think they only knew that I couldn’t be trusted,” she said with a wide grin. She walked slowly backwards towards the lift.

“Impertinent.” He sounded almost fond when he said it.

“I’m still taking it as a compliment!” she called as she stepped in.

“It’s still not meant as one,” was his reply as the gates slid shut and the lift whisked her upwards.

She was still smiling when she exited onto the street and turned towards home. She hadn’t felt this light, this happy, in ages. She was very much looking forward to Monday.


	7. Chapter 7

The weekend took an unexpected turn when Ron and Harry fell through the fireplace on Saturday afternoon. Hermione and Luna had been cleaning Grimmauld Place—their twice-annual decluttering effort—and the commotion brought both witches running. Hermione recognized them before she fired off a defensive spell, but Luna did zap Harry with a light shock.

"So sorry," she called as Ron grabbed her up in a hug. Harry just waved it off and grinned at his friends before glancing to Hermione.

"Autumn cleaning weekend?" he asked, eyeing her askance.

Hermione resisted the urge to glance down at her clothing. Of course she was dirty—Grimmauld Place seemed to manufacture dust and grime at an alarming rate. "Well spotted, Potter," she retorted, only realizing after she'd done so that she'd mimicked Snape. Just a bit.

Harry patted her shoulder. "Better clean up—Ginny and Neville and some of the others aren't too far behind us," he said happily, moving past her to look in the fridge. "I don't suppose this is very well stocked, is it?"

Hermione just shook her head. "How many are coming? And why, exactly?"

Harry had already stuffed some grapes into his mouth, so Ron untangled himself from Luna enough to answer. "You know how it goes, Hermione. We had a free evening and were going to grab some Butterbeers, then one thing led to another, and anyway, I think it's, um, probably about...twenty people?"

"Twenty—" Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Hermione looked to the ceiling while she fought for patience. Her brain switched into To-Do List mode and she sent her Patronus off on some errands before turning her face back to the boys. "Okay. Well. I'm going to pop back to my flat to change, and _you two_ —" she gave them her sternest look, "—are going to help Luna clear out all the cleaning supplies and rubbish we've accumulated. At the very least get the kitchen presentable?"

Harry saluted her and Ron nodded. "Could you maybe—"

"Grab takeaway from that place you like near my flat?" Hermione finished for him. She squeezed Ron's shoulder as she passed him on her way to the floo. "I've already sent the order in."

* * *

Within an hour, Hermione was headed back to Grimmauld Place, this time on foot, both arms laden down with bags of food. She'd showered away all the grime and dressed in a simple velvet dress that skimmed just above her knees, with heeled boots that made her feel a bit fancy. The skies were already darkening, and the air was crisp in that particular way one only found in the fall. She took a deep breath and allowed herself a moment's respite before nudging open the door to Number Twelve. She knew from experience that "twenty close friends" was more likely to end up nearer to fifty, and the group would end up fairly raucous by the end of the night. Still, it was good to have everyone together; and, since her job didn't exactly require her to be in tiptop mental shape, she was free to indulge in as much food, alcohol, and sleeplessness as she wanted this weekend.

Heading down the stairs to the kitchen, she called out, "Food's here, you gits!" and entered the room to a loud cheer. Smiling, she set the bags on the table, shook out her hands, and then started unpacking and arranging everything to her liking. Plates, utensils, serving platters: everything swished and flew to its proper place in the gracefully choreographed way that Molly Weasley would appreciate. Scurrying out of the path between hungry young men and their dinners, Hermione summoned a goblet of wine and leaned back against the wall, prepared to relax.

"Impressive," a familiar voice said from nearby, and Hermione choked on her wine.

She spun to see Snape standing stiffly in the corner, his arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked. Coughing, she fought to make sense of things. Snape was _here_? At a house party with...her friends?

Quickly, she scanned the room and noted a few things she hadn't before. One, there were far more than even fifty witches and wizards here; and two, quite a few were _not_ in her same peer group from school. It looked like nearly all of the Weasleys plus a good deal of Order members and current professors dotted the crowd, which she realized now had spilled out onto the back patio. Finally clearing her throat, she glanced back at Snape, her eyes still watering a bit.

She decided to brazen it out. "Can I offer you a drink?" she asked, summoning a tumbler of Firewhisky without waiting for his answer and holding it out to him with a smirk.

He glanced at her offering, then back to her face, shaking his head as he reached for the tumbler. "An educated guess," he said, then took a sip.

"Perhaps I've stalked you," she replied, grinning when _he_ choked on his drink.

"Impertinent," he chastised. Then he actually smiled at her, and Hermione felt her stomach crash through the floor.

_What was wrong with her?_ This was Snape, for Godric's sake; no facial expression of his should be able to make her feel anything quite so—so—fluttery. She cleared her throat and took a large gulp of her wine. Perhaps the booze was going to her head and she needed food.

"Hold this, please," she said, shoving her glass in Snape's direction and trusting that he would take it. She made her way to the table and filled two plates with an assortment of items, then jerked her head towards the patio. Snape nodded and wended his way towards the door, Hermione behind him.

Once outside, the noise level dropped considerably. They settled at one of the benches and Hermione traded him a plate for her goblet. Nervously she stuffed some cheese and a cracker into her mouth and chewed. What had she been thinking? Oh, right—she needed to offset the wine. _Because Snape smiling at her made her knees weak._

No, no, that wasn't it. It couldn't be. _No no no nononono..._

"You're rather quiet," Snape's words broke into her inner monologue.

Swallowing, Hermione retorted, "I rather thought you'd appreciate the deviation from the norm."

He smirked as he selected some cheese from his own plate. "Oh, I do. I'm just concerned that if you bottle it up too much now, you'll be prone to explode later."

"Ha, ha," Hermione said. "You'd be sorry, you know. If I explode later then who will help you on broom registration days?"

He made a mock expression of horror. "You're right. I would have to burn the Ministry down rather than work alone."

Hermione burst out laughing, drawing several looks their way. "Very well. But you would miss me."

She nearly clapped a hand over her mouth. Goodness, was she _flirting_ with him? What had happened to her brain tonight? Maybe it was simply because he was so out of context here. She hadn't expected to see him outside of work, and her logic was just struggling to process the change. Of course.

Snape had furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he mused.

"Wanker," Hermione muttered, elbowing him.

"What I do in the privacy of my home is none of your business," he retorted, dusting his hands together and standing before her mind could process that he'd made a joke. She gaped up at him, dumbfounded. "Goodbye until Monday, this time," he said, starting back into the house.

"Wait!" Hermione leapt up and followed him. "You can't leave yet."

He looked at her over his shoulder, both brows raised.

"Um, you haven't, that is, it's only been a few minutes," she finished lamely.

Snape made an exaggerated show of looking all around them. "Yes, and I've ever so many people I must catch up with," he intoned, continuing on into the house. Hermione trailed after him.

"You haven't seen the library," Hermione pointed out.

Snape pressed through the crowds in the kitchen, nodding his head a time or two at those who greeted him. But he strode inexorably on, and Hermione dipped and dodged partygoers to keep up. As they climbed the stairs, she tried again. "Luna and I have made a lot of changes upstairs."

"Thank Salazar," he muttered, but he continued towards the door.

"Severus, wait," she exclaimed. He turned to face her, his expression questioning. She was panting slightly—Merlin, the man could move quickly when he wanted. "Why don't you want to stay?"

She cursed herself for how whiny that sounded. Snape noticed, too, if his eyeroll was any indication. "I had no intention of staying long," he told her. "I thought Minerva might have been here, but since she is not, I think I've done my duty." Then his expression softened just a tad. "Behave yourself tonight," he said, and Hermione's thighs clenched with desire.

Her surprise at her physical reaction was surely the only reason she blurted out—"Oh, I never do!"

"You have a rare gift of making your trouble seem like someone else's," he agreed, and then he slipped out the door, leaving Hermione in a state of complete and utter confusion.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione was still standing by the door, dumbfounded, when Ron and Harry appeared. As if by unspoken agreement, they came to stand on either side of her, flanking her—and also blocking her escape.

"So," Ron said, casually. Hermione knew better than to respond. They would get to their point sooner if she remained silent.

She was proven correct when the boys gave each other A Significant Look, and then Harry cleared his throat. "You and Snape seemed, ah, chummy tonight."

"We do work together."

"Yeah, of course. We just want to make sure...that is, we didn't know if...ah..." Harry trailed to a stop.

"If I wanted Professor Snape to shag me senseless? Thank you, but I can look after myself." Hermione shook her head, exasperated but touched by their concern nonetheless.

Ron made a face and took a step back. "Shag you—gads, no, Hermione, we wanted to make sure he wasn't being a horrible git!"

"Oh. No, not at all. At least, not after the first week or so. We're friends, of a sort," Hermione explained.

Harry cocked his head and studied her. "Why is shagging where _your_ mind went?"

Flustered, Hermione frowned. "Why couldn't you spit it out, then, if you were just asking whether he was being rude?"

They stared at one another for a moment. Hermione fought hard to keep a blush from creeping up her cheeks. Why _had_ her mind gone straight to shagging? Merlin, this was embarrassing. Best to end this tête-à-tête before she blurted out anything else. "I haven't had nearly enough to drink; shall we return to the kitchen?"

She ducked past Ron and marched off without waiting for an answer.

* * *

The next morning when she woke up, it took a few moments for Hermione to remember that she'd slept over at Grimmauld Place. One might think that the very atmosphere of the place would be seared into her memory, but then again they hadn't exactly slept well while they'd been on the run. Nor had the place been nearly as comfortable then as it was now. She and Molly had worked tirelessly to make the place more habitable with Kreacher's assistance. Now it was far more homey, even if it did still maintain too much Black family influence for her tastes.

Stretching, she rolled over and eyeballed the light seeping in around the curtains. She supposed it was earlyish in the morning. Hermione wished she could sleep in a bit more, especially given that they hadn't gone to bed until well past two, but she was wide awake now and there was no use trying to fall back asleep. She rose and tiptoed downstairs, unsurprised to find Ginny and Luna in the kitchen having tea. Joining them with her own mug, she sipped in companionable silence.

Companionable, that is, until Ginny started in. "Harry says you've got shagging on the brain," she teased.

"Please don't start," Hermione moaned, covering her face. "So humiliating."

"Your sexuality is nothing to be ashamed about," Luna put in.

Hermione lifted her face. "What?"

Luna glanced at Ginny and then back to Hermione. "This isn't about your curiosity?"

"Aaah...no. I'm sorry, what curiosity are we talking about?"

Shrugging, Luna took a serene sip of her tea. "Never mind. Go on."

Tabling that discussion for another time, Hermione shook off her bewilderment. "The boys seem to think I have the hots for Snape, of all people. They were teasing me about it last night, that's all."

Ginny gave her a serious look. "Do you? Have the hots for him?"

"No!" Hermione shook her head and added another "No" for good measure.

"Hmm." Ginny narrowed her eyes for a moment before leaning forward in her habit that meant she was most definitely about to meddle. "You know, Hermione, it's always been obvious that you need a wizard—or witch, if that's the case—who can keep up with you. Not any old partner will do, you need one who's smart, who challenges you. Are you sure that couldn't be Snape?"

Hermione was already shaking her head. "Are we seriously having this conversation?"

Ginny huffed out a breath and reached to put her hand on Hermione's. "You know everyone in this building loves you. If Snape makes you happy, then naturally, that makes us happy. Although I will admit that there will probably be a large number of snide comments made, at least until everyone gets used to the idea."

"Ron's going to be a problem," Luna agreed. Then she added her hand to Ginny's and Hermione's. "But he'll come around. He means well."

"I'm touched," Hermione said truthfully. "But honestly, this is all a misunderstanding. We just had a drink together last night, that's all."

"And sat together on the bench," Luna added.

"And you chased him down as he was leaving, then didn't reappear for at least five minutes," Ginny concluded, her eyebrows waggling.

Hermione yanked her hand back and stood up, giving her friends a mock glare when they laughed. "Very funny! We're just...friends." The words felt like a lie on her tongue, but Hermione ruthlessly quashed any other feelings. "And I don't need a shag!" she tossed over her shoulder as she headed back up the stairs.

"Spoken like someone who really needs a good snogging," she heard Ginny mutter in a voice that was _just_ loud enough to carry.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione was still wound up about the erroneous suggestions from her meddlesome friends when she arrived at work on Monday. Snape, naturally, was little help: he was wearing a very dark navy blue jumper instead of his usual black and the effect on Hermione was instantaneous.

"Good morning," he intoned.

Which, for _reasons_ , got Hermione's hackles up. "Don't tell me what to do!" she said, cringing at how shrilly it came out. Not to mention, she sounded exactly like the Severus Snape from several weeks ago. "I'm going to get coffee," she mumbled.

"You're holding a cup already," Snape pointed out.

"Fine. I'm going to get _more_ coffee."

"I'll join you." Snape stood and fell into step with her as she stormed down the hallway. Why, oh why, couldn't he have been his usual silent self today? Why was he wearing an actual color? Why was his voice affecting her nerves in such a pleasant way? _Why was she still thinking about shagging?_

She could feel his eyes on her as they entered the cafeteria. She finished what was left in her cup with a large, ungraceful gulp; she took her time refilling it and adding the appropriate amount of sugar. All the while, she sensed that Snape was watching her, and she didn't know how she knew but she suspected he was amused.

He kept his own counsel until they were seated at their table once more. Hermione knew she needed to slow down on the caffeine intake, but since they weren't talking, she didn't have anything else to do besides drink her beverage rather quickly. And, Salazar be damned, there were no visitors in sight to help pass the time or distract them. She drummed her fingers on the table and wracked her brain for some neutral topic of conversation.

Snape beat her to it. "What's got your knickers in a twist this morning?"

Hermione's face heated. "We are _not_ talking about my knickers!"

Snape turned in his chair to face her fully. "It's merely a saying."

"Yes, well, it's highly inappropriate. Um, in our place of work."

He snorted, then gestured around. "Yes. Because there are ever so many witnesses here." Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't respond. Snape leaned forward and stared hard at her. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"No!" She could _never_.

"Then tell me how you manipulated wand magic."

"No."

"Very well. Tell me what other spells you can do without a wand."

"Argh!"

"You may remember that we are here for at least another eight hours today. Plus four more days after that, and then roughly...two and a half years beyond _that_. I can keep asking or you can simply assuage my curiosity."

The thought of assuaging his _anything_ just made Hermione blush again. This was intolerable—she was going to have to figure out how to get their interactions back on track. She was supposed to be the one aggravating him, not the other way around.

"Why aren't you wearing black today?" she asked.

Both his eyebrows shot up. "Because I don't always wear black. Why won't you maintain eye contact?"

"You do always wear black. Or you have, for the past several weeks. Actually, for the entirety of our acquaintance."

He smirked. "Minerva sent me this. Why are you changing the subject?"

"I'm not—" He chuckled and Hermione huffed out a breath. "Why are you being so aggravating?"

"Shall we see who can keep asking questions the longest?"

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to be entertained by their exchange. "Do you really want to compete against the Insufferable Know-It-All in a game of questions?"

"Hmm. You make a compelling argument. Very well, a change of subject then. How was the remainder of the gathering on Saturday?"

"Awkward," Hermione answered before she had a chance to think about it. "Er, that is, some of my friends were being, ah...irritating."

"One of the many reasons I prefer not to have friends," he agreed amiably.

Hermione laughed. "I thought we were friends!"

"I suppose that's why you're finding me so irritating today," he retorted.

"No, you...well, yes, a bit," she admitted. She gave him a sheepish smile and decided to confess a little of what had gone on. "They all seem to think I'm in need of a good—um, in need of a boyfriend. It was brought up several times and I suppose I'm just a bit agitated about it still."

"Some Weasley said you needed a snog," he stated, so sure of it that Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"More than one Weasley, actually," she told him. Then she shook her head. "But what do they know?"

"Indeed," Snape answered. He gave her a long look and then glanced away. "So, what other magic are you capable of?"

Hermione smacked his arm, glad that the awkward tension of the morning seemed to have released her from its grip. "You're incorrigible!"

"You are impertinent."

"Do you know, impertinent is ever so much better than insufferable."

"I'm not so certain..."

They squabbled about vocabulary for the next hour, and then visitors began to trickle in so conversation was limited. By the time the end of their day rolled around, Hermione had very nearly regained her equilibrium.

* * *

On her walk home that evening, Hermione reviewed the facts at hand. One, Snape hadn't disagreed today when she'd said they were friends. Two, he'd chatted with her nearly all day, despite her initial surly attitude. And three, he looked good in navy blue.

_Shite!_

Hermione shook herself. This—this interest, or whatever it was, had to be a byproduct of...something. Perhaps it was the boredom with her job. Or her general lack of a stimulating social life. It simply couldn't be that she was actually, truly attracted to Severus Snape, could it? She thought back to what Ginny had said that morning in the kitchen. About how she needed someone who was her equal, someone to challenge her... Sure, Snape fit the bill, but could they both get past their history? She had been his student, not to mention one of the last people he'd gazed upon before nearly bleeding out in the Shrieking Shack. If their roles had been reversed, she wasn't sure she'd have wanted to see him again. But Snape didn't seem to hold it against her, now that she thought about it.

She sighed. Maybe it was just that they were both unconsciously trying to make the hours pass faster at the Ministry. Just because he wasn't sullen and silent hardly meant he ever wanted to socialize with her outside of work. The party at Grimmauld Place had been an exception; he merely sat with her while they both ate, and then he'd practically bolted. If he was interested, surely he would have stayed.

_And, what? Basked in your presence? Such hubris, Granger._

The fact that her inner voice was sounding more and more like him was not a good sign.

* * *

Tuesday morning dawned gray and rainy, and Hermione splurged on a cab to the office. Even still, she was drenched during her sprint from the cab to the door. Her shoes squished when she walked, and she knew her hair was going to be unmanageable for the rest of the day. Once she entered the Atrium, she saw Snape standing by their table, staring at the widening puddle at his feet with dismay. He looked up hopefully as she approached.

"Please tell me you can wandlessly Tergeo?" he asked.

"Sssshh!" Hermione scanned the Atrium nervously, but no one else was present. "Come on, then," she whispered, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to a small alcove behind the lift. Muttering to herself the whole time about arrogant wizards, she siphoned off as much water as she could from his clothing, then went to work on herself. For his part, Snape remained silent, but he watched with rabid attention. Once they were both vaguely dry, Hermione put a hand on her hip, expecting more interrogation. "Well?"

"Thank you," he said.

Hermione smiled, her nerves settling. "You're welcome. But I assume you want to know how, and why..."

Snape shook his head slowly. "I believe I'll settle for simply being impressed."

"Oh. Um. Thank you?" Flustered, she checked again for observers, but everything was still clear. "Let's just hope that was far enough away that Melvin doesn't get any whiffs of magic."

They returned to their table and settled in for the day. She found herself out of sorts now that Snape seemed to have dropped his line of questioning. She probably owed him an apology for her bizarre behavior.

"Um, I'm sorry for being a bit of a shrew yesterday."

Snape glanced over at her, then one corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile. "I apologize for badgering you."

"That's alright. I'd be curious too, if it were the other way around."

"Hmm. You know, I did hear something about you and a certain curiosity. The Grimmauld Place rumor mill is very much alive and well." Snape tried to hide his smirk but he couldn't quite keep the glee from shining through.

"Oh, for Godric's sake—if you read about Luna Lovegood's murder in the papers this week, you'll know who did it!" Hermione buried her head in her hands and mumbled through her fingers, "So embarrassing."

"Is that what had your knickers in a twist yesterday? Perhaps an unrequited love?" he asked, clearly enjoying this.

Hermione growled and lifted her face. "You cannot possibly want to talk about my knickers anymore!"

He lifted a brow at her. "On the contrary, I always want to talk about knickers."

"Oh, my god. I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"And yet you believe in house elf autonomy."

"That's different."

"If you say so."

"Listen, there's nothing remotely sexy about my knickers—in fact right now they're still rather wet."

As soon as the words were out, Hermione gasped. She clapped a hand over her mouth and her gaze flew to his, only to see him quickly raising his eyes from the vicinity of her lap. She flushed, the heat suffusing her whole body.

Snape stood suddenly. "I need to...go...somewhere." He strode off without a backward glance, and Hermione moaned as she dropped her head to the table for a few good thunks.


	10. Chapter 10

He didn't return for a solid forty-five minutes, during which time Hermione fretted about all the possible scenarios that might occur. Maybe he had offered to fulfill his sentence in some other degrading task that wouldn't require him to join her in the lobby. Maybe he was going to return to the snarly, sullen individual who had been with her that first week. Maybe he was still contemplating her knickers and he would never be able to unthink the words that she'd just spoken...

She was so busy reviewing how she wanted to handle it if he ever came back that she didn't notice his approach. In fact, he had seated himself without her realizing it and she jumped about a foot in the air when he asked, "Are you suitably recovered or do you need more time?"

"Merlin's beard, Severus, you can't sneak up on people like that!"

"I did clear my throat several times."

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, knowing that the racing of her heart was only partially due to the scare. But before she could launch into her speech about how sorry she was, her need to keep this strictly professional, her plan to keep it from happening again, etc., etc., a visitor arrived. It was a man who looked to be in his late forties with a small child in tow.

"Good morning. I need your assistance. My son has been out of control for the past several weeks and my wife and I have hit our breaking point."

"Say no more, sir. The Obliviator Headquarters are on Level Three." Hermione gave him a bland smile.

"Obliviators? What would I need Obliviators for?"

She sat back, nonplussed. "Oh. Then perhaps you were looking for the Portkey Office on Level Six?"

"I don't want to send him away! I need help managing him, not erasing him!"

Beside her, Snape smothered a laugh.

"Um...Pest Advisory Bureau, Level Four?" she offered.

"No!" The man gave her A Look and turned to Snape, his eyes pleading. "I just need someone to straighten him out, you know? Put the fear of Gryffindor into him, that sort of thing."

Snape nodded seriously. "I know exactly what you mean. Please forgive my assistant, she is still in training." The man nodded, looking relieved. Snape scanned the directory in a false show of thoughtfulness and then said, "Try Auror Headquarters, Level Two, and ask for Mr. Potter. He's very good with recalcitrant children. If they are hesitant to pull Mr. Potter out of training, just tell them Miss Granger sent you." Snape jerked his chin in Hermione's direction and the man's eyes widened.

"Oh. OH. Alright, then, er, thank you."

They scurried off and Hermione heard the little boy whispering "Da, that's HERMIONE GRANGER!" as they went. She leveled a glare at Snape.

"In training? Really?"

"When your first suggestion is Obliviation, I think perhaps training is warranted." She opened her mouth to argue, but he rushed on. "Not to mention the truly stellar additions of Portkeying and Pest Control. Really, Granger, is there not a single maternal bone in your body?"

She sighed. "Fine. Perhaps I should have asked a few questions to figure out why he was here."

"There you go. Brightest Witch Of Her Age, everyone."

"Very funny."

They lapsed into silence, each lost in thought. It didn't seem like a long time, but soon the man and his son were back, both sporting huge grins.

"Look! Mr. Harry gave me my own scar!" The boy pointed to his forehead where a lightning bolt was drawn on with what looked like brown marker.

"How lovely," Hermione said, smiling too. Harry _was_ good with kids; she had no doubt he'd encouraged this particular one to behave with promises of him growing up to be an Auror, too.

"And he said you're famous too, and not to let you try to mis—mis—misdread me!" The little boy looked at her eagerly, so Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I would never mislead you," she whispered loudly. Then she spun her fingers and produced her otter Patronus, which swam a few laps around the wide-eyed child before sprinting off towards the lift. "But I'm not as famous as Mr. Harry." She straightened and smiled at the boy's dad. "I'm glad he was able to assist. We hope you have a magical day."

The man returned her smile and said, "I'm sorry for being cross before. I was so flustered, I didn't realize I was in the presence of a celebrity!"

"No need to feel starstruck. Her knickers get wet in the rain just like the rest of us," Snape put in helpfully.

"Severus!"

Hermione's whole face heated and she turned to glower at Snape. The other man quickly turned his kid around and ushered him away, shooting them an odd glance over his shoulder as he left.

"Why are you plaguing me?" Hermione groaned.

"It's actually quite enjoyable being impertinent. I can see why you like it."

Snape idly examined his fingernails while Hermione fumed. Opting to skip the bulk of her prepared speech, she went directly to the end. "Look, for as long as we're working together, I think we need some boundaries. No more discussions of knickers, mine or otherwise."

"I do not accept."

"For Godric's sake, Snape..."

"Perhaps limited to Tuesdays and Fridays?"

"Argh!" She stood and shoved in her chair. " _I'm_ going for a long walk now, and hopefully by the time I return, you'll have dropped this ridiculous obsession."

"I seriously doubt that." He gave her a false, sweet smile—the kind she often used on visitors. She growled again and stomped off, hoping that he had to deal with some dreadful guests in her absence.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all so very much for the reviews and kind words! I haven't written in a good long time and those little email alerts just make my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione nearly collided with several Ministry workers in her mad dash back to the lobby. She skidded to a stop at their table and shouted, "I found us a job!"

Out of breath, she bent over to rest her hands on her knees. Snape merely stared at her for a moment and then replied, "We have jobs, or have you come to love sitting at this table so much you consider it a hobby?"

"No! Different jobs, _better_ jobs! Come see!"

He glanced around her, saw no approaching visitors, and shrugged. "Very well. Lead the way."

Hermione scurried back towards the hallway where she'd just come from. In her attempt to get over her embarrassment, she'd ventured deeper into the labyrinth than she ever had before. Their destination was several levels down, in a twisty-turny hallway that tapered down to single-file width. Behind her, Snape kept pace. Finally she found the notice board that had caught her attention on her earlier exploration. She jabbed the paper with her finger and said, "Look!"

Snape leaned in to read it, and Hermione bounced on her toes. This could be the solution they needed! A way to pay off their debt while putting their minds to better use than welcoming visitors.

"' _Volunteers needed for experimental potion testing'_ —are you deranged? That's a terrible idea," he said after a moment.

"Not that one! This one!" She pointed to the plain gray flyer just next to it.

_Hiring: Intelligent, discreet witch or wizard for classified work in undisclosed locations. Applicants must have earned an O in a minimum of six NEWT courses and be in good standing with all local laws, regulations, statues, etc. Lack of spouse, children, and/or other living relatives a plus. Available to start immediately upon hire. Inquire with Dr. Hinklespar, Level Nine._

"See? It's perfect!" Hermione clapped her hands together and beamed at him.

For his part, Snape seemed reserved. "This is the vaguest and most alarming job post I've seen in my lifetime," he murmured. He looked at her. "Level Nine is the Unspeakables, Hermione."

"I _know_. Just think—I bet they're looking for people to hunt down rare artifacts and apprehend evil wizards!"

"Have you been reading adventure novels again? They're more likely looking for test subjects for—whatever it is they test in the Department of Mysteries." He shuddered, then pointed to the page. "Lack of living relatives—use your brain, Granger. Why else would they have listed that?"

Hermione sniffed and lifted her chin into the air. "You don't know that's what they mean."

"You don't know it's not."

"But—"

"And did you fail to notice the line that reads 'in good standing'?"

Hermione could feel her enthusiasm deflating as his unfailing logic set in. "Yes, well, I mean, we _are_ in good standing, except for the whole debt-to-society part." He raised his eyebrows at her. "I saved Harry's arse a bazillion times, that should count for something," she muttered, defeated. She crossed her arms. "Fine. It was a terrible idea. Forgive me for not wanting to spend two and a half more years at that stupid little table!"

She intended to brush past him and storm off, but the narrowness of the hallway meant that she had to turn sideways to get past him. Even then, with both of them sideways, they were mashed together from shoulder to knee as she wriggled and tried to shove her way through. Her aggravation only escalated when she looked up and saw that he was definitely trying not to laugh at her.

She got free of him with a sudden pop and would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her elbow to steady her, a kindness which ironically only brought tears to her eyes. She took off at a jog as the tears started to gather, leaving him behind in the gloom.

* * *

Hermione continued staring blankly ahead as Snape rejoined her in the Atrium some twenty minutes later. Her tears had dried but her roiling emotions remained. He took his seat next to her, his movements utterly familiar to her by now.

"It's just that this isn't exactly what I'd envisioned when they said I'd be 'the face of the Ministry'," she said softly by way of explanation.

"I'm just grateful they didn't spell my face onto a statue to greet people," he muttered.

Hermione could only muster up a half-smile at that. "Look at you, with an attitude of gratitude. How refreshing."

He snorted and tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "I certainly don't wish to fritter away the next few years dealing with every dunderhead who walks through these doors. However, I am skeptical of any job having to do with the Department of Mysteries. I apologize if my reluctance has dampened your spirits."

"No, you're right, of course. It's just the first posting I've seen in this place that didn't seem like trading one bit of drudgery for another, you know?" She slumped back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. "Maybe I can take up a second job writing for the _Prophet_ , or something."

"Horrifying. You'd be better suited volunteering as that potions test subject."

Hermione grinned and started to get into the spirit of things. "I could open an apothecary."

"Too much liability."

"Go back to Hogwarts as a professor."

"Too many children."

"Become a world-renowned potions master!"

"Not as satisfying as it sounds."

"Take up dancing in Madam Rosmerta's hush-hush upstairs afterhours?"

"How do you know—never mind." He grimaced. "Why not, oh, I don't know, present yourself to the Aurory and show them your abilities?"

Now it was Hermione who grimaced. "And have them quiz me on when and how and why? I don't think so."

Snape turned to study her. "Being a strong witch with exceptional talent isn't a fault, you know."

She turned her head away from the ceiling to stare back at him. "It's not exactly lauded, either."

Snape acknowledged that with a slight head tilt. "Be that as it may. I should think that with Potter and Weasley's support, you could easily find a role within the Magical Law Enforcement department, or yes, Hogwarts."

Hermione considered this, then shook her head. "Thank you. But I'd rather stay out of the public eye for a good long while. The boys are still being sent on random public appearances whenever the Ministry deems it beneficial, and I can't imagine being able to curb my tongue as much as they'd want me to if someone started in."

"Well, good thing you're hidden away from the general public now," Snape deadpanned.

Hermione laughed, and she felt her tension ease. He had a way of soothing her—not by sugarcoating her situation, but by being bluntly realistic. She couldn't put her finger on why it helped her so much, simply that it did. And for that, she _was_ grateful for this particular desk assignment. She was on the verge of telling him just that when he spoke again.

"So, if you won't tell the Ministry, might you at least tell me how to wrangle a wand?" he asked hopefully.

Slowly, she sat up and turned to face him fully. She quirked one eyebrow when she asked him, "You want me to teach you how to _wrangle_ your _wand_?"

He flushed and pinched his lips together in embarrassment. Hermione started laughing and had to gasp for air, but she finally managed, "Surely you received plenty of practice as an adolescent!" before falling into more fits of laughter. Tears were running down her face, and every time she glanced at him, she started laughing again. Snape was glaring at her but she couldn't help it. Eventually she trailed off into a few chuckles interspersed with hiccups. She wiped her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Are you finished?"

"Wrangling your wand? I haven't even started." At his fulminating scowl, she broke down into hysterical laughter all over again. She was still laughing when a stream of visitors came through, and it was up to Snape to check them all in and direct them. A few gave her odd looks but most seemed reluctant to make eye contact, which only served to make her laugh some more.

By the time their guests had dwindled down, Hermione had more or less regained her composure. Snape was mutely ignoring her as they cleaned up their table for the day. They walked together to the lift, Hermione still pleased with herself and Snape still silent. It wasn't until they were exiting to the street that he leaned close to her and said, "At least now we're even. And for what it's worth, should you ever have the opportunity to wrangle my wand, I can guarantee that your knickers will Once. Again. Be. Damp."

Her jaw dropped open and she watched in utter shock as he strolled away, chuckling to himself.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to FrancineHibiscus for the 'wrangle the wands' comment!**


	12. Chapter 12

By unspoken agreement, neither Hermione nor Snape made any further mention of knickers, wet or otherwise, the rest of the week. If anything, Hermione felt that Snape had reverted back to his earlier sullen reserve. Of course, when she questioned him about it, he denied any such attitude; but Hermione knew that he wasn’t chatting with her quite as freely as before. No matter—Hermione Granger was capable of entertaining herself, which she did by maintaining a steady stream of one-sided conversation. 

And which she churlishly hoped irritated him beyond belief.

After all, it was hardly fair that he had been able to provoke her so thoroughly one day and then practically ignore her the next. She’d walked home on Tuesday in a daze, his parting words ringing in her ears...and reverberating in other unmentionable parts. That stupor hadn’t worn off until she’d nearly finished her dinner, and then it was as if the floodgates in her brain opened. All the things she _should_ have said suddenly came to her in a rush, and the last of her food sat forgotten as she’d hurried to jot them all down. She’d been prepared with several witty repartees of her own when she walked in on Wednesday, only to find that Snape was in no mood to taunt her some more. Why that disappointed her, she refused to examine too deeply.

It was all very vexing and confusing.

That was why, when Snape finally addressed her directly on Friday afternoon, Hermione made an exaggerated show of falling out of her chair in astonishment.

“I’m sorry, were you actually speaking to me? I was so surprised, I missed what you said,” Hermione told him from where she was sprawled on the floor.

Snape’s eye roll was minimal but noticeable. “I said, Do you have plans after work this evening?”

“Oh, I’m quite busy,” Hermione returned, not wanting to grant him any victory at the moment. Then she realized he’d just asked her out, and she paused, unsure of how to proceed. Best to stick with what she’d already started, she supposed. She got to her feet and brushed her trousers off before primly retaking her seat. “Yes. Busy, busy.” She snuck a glance at him and saw that he was trying not to smirk. Not wanting to admit that her weekend stretched before her in a great, vast emptiness, she added, “I have several new books to read. I shouldn’t waste a moment.”

“Of course,” he agreed equably. _Too_ equably for someone who had just been turned down.

Hermione faced him fully, frowning. “I also have...quite a bit of correspondence to catch up on.”

“Naturally.” He nodded. His nonchalance was getting under her skin, and she knew he knew it.

“But I suppose...if you need to eat, and I need to eat, we might as well...eat together,” she said, slowly, as if it were just occurring to her. She was already reviewing her outfit against all the possible date-night restaurants he might have chosen when he gave her an odd look.

“Eat? I was going to tell you that we’ve been invited to a preliminary interview for that job you saw, if you were still interested. What do you mean about eating?”

“The job? The ‘vague and terrifying’ one you shot down earlier this week?” Hermione’s brain screeched to a halt when she realized he hadn’t been trying to ask her on a date. _Merlin’s beard..._

“The same.” He grimaced slightly, and Hermione realized he was feeling _uncomfortable_. “I shouldn’t have presumed. If you’re no longer interested...”

“Of course I am! Oh, but I haven’t had any time to prepare. I haven’t updated my resume in ages. What if they ask for demonstrations? We don’t have wands, in case you’ve forgotten, and there’s really no sense in asking for ours back temporarily so we can apply to a different position—mmph!”

The shock of Severus Snape’s hand on her mouth was enough to silence Hermione, but he seemed in no hurry to remove it even after she’d stopped talking. He raised one eyebrow. “The person I spoke with specifically referred to it as an ‘informal, unofficial, _casual_ meeting’ simply to learn a bit more about us, and for us to ask questions about the position. That is all.”

As soon as he started to pull his hand away, Hermione said, “But what if—”

He clapped it back over her mouth, and _tsk_ ed. “No more questions. I don’t know any more than you do.”

Hermione grabbed his wrist to pull his hand back from her face. “I’m not dressed properly.”

He huffed out a breath and crossed his arms. “If that’s an attempt to get me to mention your knickers again—”

“No!” She swatted his arm and blushed bright red. Then she added, “But if it had been, it worked. You said it.”

Lifting his head to stare at the ceiling, he seemed to be fighting for patience. “Knickers, knickers, knickers, knickers. Now, can we get back to what’s important here?”

Biting back a laugh, Hermione agreed. “Very well. It’s odd that they asked us to come by after work, don’t you think?”

“I requested that specifically. I didn’t think you’d want to ask the illustrious Mr. Finklebaum for time off to go to an interview.”

Hermione cocked her head to look at him. “That’s exactly right.”

“I know.”

“Scary. For you, that is. Most acquaintances of mine faint dead away whenever I try to explain the inner workings of my mind.”

“Most acquaintances of yours are idiots.”

Her lips twitched. “I will neither agree nor disagree. So then. How shall we present ourselves? Is this just one position that we’re competing for? I’d rather not go up against you, if that’s the case.” She furrowed her brow as she thought through the truthfulness of her words. In a competition of experience, knowledge, and skill? She wouldn’t stand a chance. And she wouldn’t want to stand between Snape and an opportunity to escape the drudgery of the lobby attendant position.

“I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet,” he said, giving her A Look. “You have a unique set of qualifications regarding a certain branch of very difficult magic...”

“Which I am not going to discuss unless they force me.” Hermione returned his look with one of her own. “And which _someone else_ shouldn’t bring up, unless he wants to experience the full depth and breadth of my wrath.”

Snape held his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare. I saw what you did to Miss Edgecombe.”

Hermione winced. “I did go back and fix that, after. Her skin is blemish-free, and she’ll never know _why_ she’s able to live in her flat rent-free, but I will.” Seeing that Snape was confused, Hermione explained. “I had to pull some strings but when I found out she was moving to London and had her eye on a fancy place near Bloomsbury, I made it so that a previously undiscovered ‘aunt’ had died and left her the whole level, rent-free and unencumbered. It’s in Marietta’s name, hers to do with what she wants if she ever moves again.”

His brows shot up. “You murdered her relative to secure her a living space?”

“No! Bloody hell, just who do you think I am? I merely spelled all the documents pertaining to the building to this fictional relative, then did a wee bit of finagling to create a phony death cert and will, and then really, it was as simple as asking Kingsley to deliver the news of this fake aunt’s passing as well as her leaving the building to Marietta. She need never know it was me, but it felt like the least I could do, after...well. You know.”

He considered her for a moment, then shook his head in disbelief. “Most would consider ‘the least they could do’ to be an honest apology, not a conspiracy to commit fraud.” 

“I apologized as well.”

“I wasn’t implying you didn’t.”

“I felt terrible.”

“I am coming to realize that.”

“But Umbridge—”

He placed one finger on her lips again, and Hermione was still surprised, but this time she was able to register the feel of his skin on hers. And the resulting tingling that it was causing to spread all over her.

“Believe me when I say that no one blames you for anything that happened relative to _that woman_ ,” he assured her. He pulled his hand back—all too soon, in her mind—and straightened. “Well? It’s past five, shall we go?”


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione trailed after Snape as they headed into the depths of the Ministry, her stomach churning and her thoughts in turmoil. She had no idea what to expect, which meant she couldn’t properly prepare, which in turn meant that she was on the verge of panicking. Normally when she was this keyed up, she would re-alphabetize her books or recite every spell she knew in the order that she’d learned them, but neither was appropriate nor available here.

“I can practically hear your imminent anxiety attack,” Snape said over his shoulder. “As I said, this is a simple meet and greet. No cause for alarm.” 

“Right, because every dealing I’ve ever had with Ministry officials has just gone _swimmingly_ ,” she snapped back, albeit under her breath.

“I can also hear your muttering,” he remarked, and his calm demeanor sparked her ire.

Whispering as softly as she could, she said, “Good, then you can hear me call you an overbearing, pompous, vexing—”

He whirled around so quickly she slammed into him. He steadied her with both his hands on her shoulders, but just as soon let them drop again. “Careful, Miss Granger, or all your flattery will go straight to my head.”

“How did you hear that?”

“You aren’t the only one who has used magic to tamper with their bodies.” He quirked a brow and tapped her mouth once, indicating her teeth.

She took a big step back and crossed her arms. “Well! I would probably never have if _someone_ hadn’t made a terrible comment about them!”

“Would it help if I said I couldn’t be seen favoring Gryffindors?”

“No!”

“What about if I told you I’ve said much worse, far more often, to Draco?”

“Still no.”

He exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry for the insult. Can we please proceed to our appointment? We’re wasting time.”

“Fine. But I expect to hear all about how you’ve magically altered your eardrums.” They began walking again, and Hermione contemplated the relevant danger of using magic on the parts of oneself that you couldn’t _see_. At least she’d been in front of a mirror when she’d had Pomfrey fix her teeth.

“I’ll tell you that as soon as you tell me the fascinating story of how Hermione Granger came to be a wand master.”

“Never!”

He shrugged, and then they were there. The door in front of them simply read “Level Nine, Do Not Enter”.

“Do you think it’s like Ravenclaw Tower, where we have to solve a riddle?” she asked, studying the door.

“No.” He reached for the handle and pushed, and the door opened. “I think it’s like opening a door,” he said, sounding smug.

“The sign says—”

“And there she is.” He stepped aside to let her go in first, and added, “Perhaps try to tone down the—Grangerness, hmm?”

She stuck out her tongue at him, but then sobered. “If you think I’m going in first, you’re barmy. I’ll watch you enter to make sure there isn’t a hex waiting, thank you.” She nudged her chin in the direction of the interior and waited. Snape shrugged again and entered the room. When there was no explosion or sound, Hermione tentatively followed. She was highly disappointed to see a very bland-looking waiting room.

“Well. That’s unexpected.” She wandered up to the sole desk and examined the paper on top. “This just says to write your name, and someone will be with you.” She worried the tip of her nail between her teeth. “I don’t know, maybe this is all some elaborate trap—”

“I’m afraid we’re just as dull as we seem,” a feminine voice said, and Hermione jerked her head up to see a middle-aged witch entering the room from an arched doorway that was already disappearing again on the back wall. “I’m Fennica Foxglove, the director of this department. If you’re ready, you can both follow me.” She turned and headed back towards the wall without waiting for their response.

Hermione and Snape shared a concerned glance. This all seemed so...formal. And bizarre. Hermione’s second thoughts about this endeavor were multiplying into third, fourth, fifth, and twentieth thoughts.

“You don’t have to, of course. You can return the way you came, if you wish.” Fennica smiled and disappeared through the archway.

“I guess it’s now or never,” Hermione muttered.

“I have nothing of import to lose,” Snape said, then walked towards the archway. “Shall we?”

His use of the word _we_ had more to do with Hermione’s decision to go through the door than anything else, but she decided then and there that she would never admit it to him.

* * *

Inside was a rather plain rectangular room that stretched as far as Hermione’s eye could see. It was dimly lit, so perhaps it wasn’t endless, but it certainly felt that way. Fennica was seated with two much older wizards, neither of whom was smiling or looking the least bit welcoming.

“Hermione Granger and Severus Snape,” one of them barked. “Do you consent to interrogation under Veritaserum?”

“Interrogation? This was supposed to be a casual meet,” Hermione blurted out, turning to glare at Snape. He looked equally bewildered, however, so she returned her attention to the table as Fennica spoke.

“You may leave at any time. If you’re willing to continue, simply ingest these and we’ll begin our questions.” She waved her wand and two small vials came floating softly towards them. Snape plucked his out of the air and looked at Hermione. Hesitant, she considered the one in front of her. If she did this, she was committing to Merlin only knew what. If she didn’t...well, then she wouldn’t know, would she? She’d simply be stuck in the lobby for another two and a half years...

In the end, her decision was a simple one. She maintained eye contact with Snape while they both drank, and then their vials vanished. Hermione didn’t feel any different, but she began to worry—Snape was far better at Occlumency than she was, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to react to the serum. It was a restricted potion, after all; who knew what words were about to tumble out of her mouth?

“State your names and your birthdates,” the same wizard intoned. Mentally Hermione nicknamed him Beardy, thanks to his waist-length beard, and other she decided would be Mutey. For obvious reasons.

She listened as Snape answered and then she did as well. She assumed this was their way of getting a baseline reading on each of them—asking them questions where there would be no prevarication.

“Now you may state the amount of time left on your sentencing,” Beardy announced.

“Five thousand, eight hundred ninety hours,” Hermione said, trying to keep the irritation out of her tone.

Snape closed his eyes, his expression pained as he replied, “Forty-three thousand, eight hundred fifty hours. More or less.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “That’s outrageous! These prigs honestly sentenced you to—” she did some quick calculations in her head— “seventeen _years_ of slavery? For what, saving Harry’s arse when it mattered most? That’s no way to repay one of the bravest—”

“Miss Granger,” Fennica interrupted, but Hermione wasn’t done.

“—most self-sacrificing—”

“This is your last warning,” Fennica put in.

“—DEVOUTLY LOYAL, _HEROIC_ WIZARDS IN THIS ENTIRE BLOODY COUNTRY!” Hermione finished, glaring at the three people seated in front of her. They looked stunned, and with good reason. Hermione doubted anyone had ever shouted at them during an interview before.

“Are you quite finished?” Beardy asked, frowning.

“As a matter of fact, I am not. _How dare you_?” she snarled.

“Miss Granger, this panel was not a part of that proceeding. If we could carry on with our questions now—”

“I will _not_ —”

“Hermione.” Snape’s quiet plea, and his use of her name, silenced her. Chastened, she realized she was doing a great job ruining this opportunity for him, and she’d never realized just how much he needed it. Nearly two decades—the length of time was insane and sobering. She wouldn’t stand in the way of him doing something to pay it back that didn’t include the lobby.

She crossed her arms and focused on a place just above Fennica’s head, so she wouldn’t feel the urge to punch Beardy in the face on Snape’s behalf.

There was a long pause, as if they were waiting to see whether she had herself under control again, and then Beardy continued his questioning.

 _State your greatest fear. State your most valued possession. Describe your personal moral code in ten words or less. State your most dangerous vice. Would you abandon your partner in exchange for money, gold, lavish houses, etc._ So it went for the next thirty minutes. Hermione didn’t bother attempting to make herself look good—whether that was the Veritaserum or her attempt at ensuring they didn’t pick her for this job, she wasn’t sure.

Soon, the questions took a different turn.

“How many Os have you received from a Wizarding institution?” Fennica asked.

“Seven.” Snape’s answer was accompanied by a smug smirk in Hermione’s direction. Most of the hardest-working students only ever sat for four or five; seven was practically unheard of.

Hermione tried not to answer. She knew now that if she tried to lie, she simply couldn’t; but interestingly, the potion also seemed to compel her to answer when she wanted to stay mute.

“………….Nine.”

Even Beardy seemed taken aback by her answer, but she saw Fennica’s lips twitch in a barely-there smile.

“You earned nine bloody Os?” Snape asked, his first outburst since they’d arrived.

Hermione turned to look at him. “ _You_ said being a smart, capable witch was nothing to be ashamed of!”

“Of course it isn’t! But _nine_? Was that entirely necessary?” His eyes were starting to bulge. Hermione wondered if he was shocked, appalled...or jealous.

“You tell me, Mr. I Have Seven,” she retorted. Snape’s answer was an inelegant snort. She could have sworn she heard him whisper _Grangerness_ under his breath, but his lips barely moved.

Fennica laced her fingers and leaned forward to address them. “I only have one further question,” she said calmly, as if they weren’t bickering over grades. “Do you harbor any romantic or sexual feelings for one another?”

Hermione felt her stomach crash through the floor and her face flame. Immediately, she thought back to Snape’s wet knickers comment, his calling her _Miss Granger_ in the hallway earlier, several of the more recent dreams she’d had about him... She wanted to dash from the room rather than answer this question honestly. Her only consolation was that Snape was under the same influence as she was. But oh, son of a hippogriff—what if she said yes and he said _no_?

Afraid to look at him, Hermione wondered what would happen if they both simply didn’t answer. Already she could feel the words forming at her lips, but she tried to wrestle them back. Surely they were nearing the limits of the potion’s efficacy—if she could only keep this to herself for a bit more—

“Yes,” she blurted out.

Snape’s head snapped around and he stared hard at her. Hermione mouthed “I’m sorry” at him before squeezing her eyes shut.

“Yeeessssss.” The way Snape said it, it sounded like the one word contained fifteen syllables. And every last one of them raced through Hermione’s system, setting off tingles and shivers and very inappropriate thoughts.

She knew her face was bright red, but she resolutely opened her eyes and stared back at her spot on the wall, determined not to make this any more embarrassing than it already was. Hopefully, if that had been Fennica’s last question, then Beardy would be nearly done as well.

However, it was Mutey who spoke. His voice sounded rusty from disuse.

“Tell us the skill you’re most proud of mastering,” Mutey said, addressing the question to both but eyeing Snape.

Hermione swallowed hard. Here it was, then, her worry come to life: she was going to have to explain herself and her wand manipulation to a bunch of Ministry officials.

But Snape, bless him, answered first. “Legilimency without direct eye contact,” he said quietly. Hermione was so surprised, she whipped around to stare at him.

“You never told me that!” she hissed.

Snape turned his head to stare right back. “You never asked.”

“Wait, have you ever—” Before she could ask if he’d used that particular skill on _her_ , Beardy jumped in.

“And your skill, Granger?” he demanded.

“I don’t want to tell you,” she stated baldly, happy to know that at least the Veritaserum would allow her to dodge the question when she honestly stated that she wanted to dodge it.

At this, Beardy actually almost smiled. “Tell us the skill you’re most proud of mastering,” he repeated from Mutey’s earlier inquiry.

“I _really_ don’t want to,” she tried.

“For Merlin’s sake, Granger! They’re Unspeakables, they can’t tell anyone.” Snape’s frustration was clear in his tone and the look he gave her.

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how being an Unspeakable works,” Hermione retorted.

“And you know this how, from one of your _nine fucking Os_?” he sneered.

“No, I—”

“Children, please! Answer the question, Miss Granger. Now.” Fennica was openly laughing.

“I’m highly proficient at wandless magic, and _I-successfully-enchanted-a-number-of-wands-so-that-they-wouldn’t-register-my-magical-signature_.” The last bit all came out in a rush, but Hermione noted that the truth potion didn’t seem to care that she’d said it incoherently, just that she’d said it. Interesting. She tucked that information away for another time.

“Thank you both for your time. If you’ll step back into the waiting room, you may leave when the door opens.” Fennica stood and gestured towards the archway. Hermione was so surprised by this abrupt end to their interrogation—not to mention the lack of follow-up on her answer—that she docilely followed Snape out into the waiting room without hesitation. The archway disappeared behind them, and Hermione turned to press her fingers to the wall. Nothing—it just felt like solid wall.

The entry door sprung open, and Snape gestured for her to exit. Bemused and exhausted by the day’s events, Hermione preceded him into the hallway, wondering how much longer they’d both be under the influence of the Veritaserum.

* * *

A/N: The “nine fucking Os” line comes from another fanfiction I read not too long ago, but despite searching for it, I can’t find it! It was about Snape writing a ridiculous agreement to persuade Hermione not to be his apprentice, and then she goes and does it anyway. If you know the one I’m talking about, please let me know!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thank you to misstoryunfolded for helping me find the fic I referenced last chapter. It is Codicils & Consequences by Mersheeple (<https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193993/chapters/66422842>) and the “nine _fucking_ Os” line will stick with me for a long time! :)

* * *

Their “informal, casual, unofficial meet and greet” had taken over two hours. Hermione was exhausted and she assumed Snape was too, but as they approached the lift, he cleared his throat several times. “Would you still be willing to eat tonight?”

Remembering her faux pas in assuming he’d been asking her out earlier, she answered cautiously. “Did you mean...together?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, could we? I’m famished, and it’s so late. But, um, I also understand if today’s been a bit too—”

“Alarming? Revealing? Unforeseen?” Snape supplied for her.

She smiled at him, relieved he understood. “All of the above. Only—do you think the Veritaserum has worn off?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Lie to me, and we’ll see.”

“I’m madly in love with Rufus Scrimgeour.” Laughing at his look, Hermione took a deep breath and felt some of her tension ease. “Well, that’s sorted. No more truth potion.”

“Yes, but now I’m left with a number of questions, beginning with why _that_ was so readily on the tip of your tongue?” He faked a shudder.

“Why does anyone’s brain work the way it does?” She shrugged and entered the lift, waiting for him to join her. “I do have one request. Might we, er, avoid rehashing what just went on in the interview? At least for tonight? It’s all a little...much.”

“I shall avoid it with relish,” he answered as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “Where shall we eat?”

“There’s a little Muggle diner just around the corner. It’s where I go when I don’t want to be recognized,” she explained shyly.

“That sounds perfect, and I do not use that word lightly,” he said, half-joking.

They walked in companionable quiet, likely each lost in thought about the interview. Arriving at the diner, Hermione asked for her usual table in the back, and the hostess led them to the far corner where a round table was tucked into an alcove. Sliding into the bench seat, Hermione fiddled with the hanging curtains to afford them a bit more privacy.

“This is...eclectic,” Snape observed.

Hermione grinned. It was one of her favorite spots. All the natural wood furniture blended with the greens and beiges of the wall hangings, making it feel like a giant treehouse. Each table had its own curtains, so diners could be as visible or secluded as they wished. String lights gave everything an ethereal glow, and the benches were heaped with cozy pillows. She often came here to read or write on the weekends. 

They reviewed their menus for a moment when the waitress arrived, and then they were left alone again. Hermione settled back against her pillows and sighed happily. “Thank you for suggesting this. I would have probably just ended up with takeaway at my flat—again.”

Snape nodded. “I was too mentally wrung out to think of all the reasons I don’t normally frequent restaurants,” he said.

Closing her eyes, Hermione hummed in agreement. “If that’s their idea of ‘informal’, I’m afraid of what the next step in the hiring process is going to be.”

“Torturing puppies.”

Hermione jerked up and stared. “Are you serious?!”

One side of Snape’s mouth quirked. “How would I know? They’re clearly insane in the Department of Mysteries.” He pretended to think about it for a moment. “But I doubt they’d allow animal cruelty, regardless.”

“Smartass,” Hermione muttered, settling back against the pillows once more.

“Far preferable to Dumbass,” he quipped, and she chuckled. Their food arrived not long after, and they chatted about their plans for the weekend and squabbled over whether the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been given an unfair advantage when Oliver Wood returned to the school last year as the head coach and flying instructor. All too soon they had finished and were walking back towards Hermione’s flat.

He paused at a corner and tipped his chin towards the other street. “This is where we part.”

Feeling more at ease after their meal and easy conversation, Hermione decided to tease him a bit. She pressed her hands to her heart and attempted to bat her eyelashes. “What, you aren’t going to make sure I get home safely? I am a weak, defenseless female.”

He snorted. “Possibly the _last_ two words in the entire language I would ever use to describe you. In fact, I pity any dunderhead who attempts to get the better of you.”

Touched, she grinned broadly at him. “I do believe that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Speaking of that...” He shifted his weight and Hermione had the sense he had grown nervous. He glanced up and down the street before taking one tiny step towards her. “In the interrogation. Did you mean what you said? Truly?”

“Um...” Hermione stalled for time. This was why she hadn’t wanted to discuss it! She had no idea what to do with the information she’d gained today—his admittance that he had feelings of some sort for her too. And she certainly didn’t know what he thought about her own admission. Oh, this was too soon. She needed at least three days to come up with the proper speech... But he was staring earnestly at her, and she didn’t want to bungle this up. “Which part, exactly? One could argue that I meant all of it, given that I was under a potent dose of Veritaserum—”

“You think I’m heroic?”

The softly uttered question melted her heart. He was staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe it, even though he knew logically that she’d already been drugged at that point. She _couldn’t_ have prevaricated. Not that she would have—not about this.

“Everyone does, Snape.” She rested her hand on his arm, wanting him to accept the truth, too.

He stared down at her hand and then those obsidian eyes bored into hers once more. “I asked if _you_ do. Specifically.”

“Oh. Yes. I do.” She squeezed his arm lightly and then released him.

It took him a moment to find his voice. “Thank you for defending me. And you should call me Severus.”

She waved a hand, embarrassed. “I’d have done the same for...well, not everyone. Only some people. Not the stupid ones.”

“Of course.” His lips were tilting in a smile, and she delighted in it. Time felt meaningless—as if it was passing her too quickly, and also not at all. She didn’t want to walk away from him right now, no matter that the logical part of her brain was telling her that this was possibly the _worst_ time to act on any sort of impulses. But her body swayed toward him just a bit, anyway.

He seemed to shake himself and then he took a step back. “Have a good night. Get some rest.”

He was halfway down the block when Hermione called after him, “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Snape—no, Severus—didn’t turn, but suddenly a silvery doe was bounding towards her, and as it brushed gently past her cheek she heard his response: “Impertinent!”


	15. Chapter 15

“A wandless Patronus? Really?” Luna’s dreamy gaze turned even more faraway as she considered this information.

Hermione had awoken this morning feeling restless, so she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place not long after dawn. Luna was already up and tottering around the kitchen, so Hermione had joined her for tea and told her a bit about her bizarre interview the day before.

“All this time he’s been badgering me about my abilities, and yet he’s been keeping secrets about his own!” Hermione huffed. It was beyond rude, really. He had never once warned her that he might be able to peruse her thoughts at will. _Dear Dumbledore, I hope he’s never perused my thoughts..._

“What did you say his Patronus form was, again?” Luna refocused enough to ask.

“A doe.” Hermione didn’t elaborate, as she wasn’t sure how much of this story was common knowledge.

But Luna didn’t require any elaboration; she was nodding. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Of course. Deer represent adaptability. A spirit that is not easily subdued.” Luna stood and moved to the fireplace, where she sniffed whatever was bubbling away in the pot on the hearth. “Professor Snape has never been easily subdued, I’d imagine. Not deep down.”

Hermione turned that over in her mind. She could think of at least once when he’d seemed less than his usual self, and that was when he’d outlined how many hours of community service he had left. It would be a travesty for him to have survived all else in life, only for the Ministry’s special form of punishment to be the thing that finished him off.

“What about otters? What do they represent?” Hermione asked, curious despite herself.

Luna looked over her shoulder and smirked. “Never-ending curiosity,” she said. Hermione laughed, and Luna straightened away from the pot, dusting her hands on her pajamas. “They’re also givers, Hermione. Others underestimate them because they’re cute and always seem happy, but their energy comes from supporting everyone and everything around them. It’s easy for them to wear themselves out, and that’s when it’s most important for them to remember how to relax. You can’t keep giving to others if you’ve exhausted yourself.”

Hermione frowned. “Was that a lecture on zoology...or self-care?” she asked, feeling wary.

“I thought it was fairly obvious that it was both.” Luna patted Hermione on the shoulder as she passed. “I’m baking my mum’s favorite cake today. Will you be staying?”

“Hmm, maybe—”

“Luna, love, are you down here? I’m starving and I’m hoping breakfast includes your delectable little—”

“HI, RON,” Hermione shouted, clapping her hands over her ears.

Ron’s face was bright red when he entered the kitchen, but Luna seemed unperturbed. She met him at the door and kissed his cheek. “Hermione’s here,” she said.

“I realize that now,” he answered, looking sheepish. “Hi, Hermione.”

Hermione let go of her ears and stood. “I’ll let you two—”

“Please, stay. This is more your home than mine, anyway.” Ron’s arm slipped around Luna’s waist, anchoring her close. Hermione felt an uncharacteristic pang of jealousy at the casual affection her friends shared. Brushing the emotion away, she hovered, half in and half out of her seat.

“Yes, stay! You haven’t had cake!” Luna turned pleading eyes on her, and Hermione was helpless.

“Very well.” She stood and pushed her chair in, then moved towards the pantry. “But now that you mention it, I’m starving as well. Kreacher, is there breakfast?”

* * *

Hermione did end up leaving for a bit after their meal, primarily because Ron and Luna had announced their plans to shower, and Hermione felt that it would be best for her sanity if she was _not_ present to see or hear anything. But she promised to return after lunch, and Harry had Floo’d to say he would be arriving around dinner time.

She took a stroll down to some shops along St. John Street and then found a quiet spot to sit in the nearby gardens. She wanted to reflect on the jealousy she’d felt earlier, watching Ron and Luna. It wasn’t an emotion she’d experienced in regard to them before; she wanted to understand why she was feeling it now. It certainly wasn’t any leftover longing for Ron—she knew that with certainty. So what, then? Was she wishing for a partner of her own? She supposed it was possible, but why now?

_You know why,_ an inner voice whispered. Flopping back onto the grass and staring at the sky, Hermione sighed. Yes, she did know why, and it had everything to do with one single ‘Yes’ uttered by Severus Snape the day before.

_Do you harbor any romantic or sexual feelings for one another?_ Hermione relived that moment on loop for a while, wondering whether he’d been answering yes to romantic feelings, sexual feelings, or both. And then, she forced herself to honestly evaluate whether _she’d_ been answering for romantic, sexual, or both.

Logic told her that she’d simply started viewing him in a more flirtatious light after their joking about knickers and wands, but her knee-jerk reaction was telling her that her answer was a resounding _both_.

Which was just great, truly. Because he was so clearly in the market for a girlfriend who was nearly twenty years his junior, and an insufferable know-it-all, to boot. Hell, he could be seeing someone, for all she knew—or maybe he wasn’t even interested in witches. She had literally no idea.

Hermione stopped herself from listing _every_ obstacle to a relationship with the man, but she felt a sense of helplessness, nonetheless. She’d been the one to request that they not discuss the interview yesterday at dinner, but now she wondered if that had been the best idea. Maybe they should have just addressed it straightaway, so they could each put it behind them. Honestly, this was such a tangle! She wished _she_ was the one with Legilimency prowess, because she desperately wanted to know what thoughts were running through his brain about this in particular.

She could almost hear Snape: _Stop lying about and do something then, Granger._ Frustrated, Hermione sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face. Maybe her inner Snape was right—maybe she ought to face this head-on.

But...not quite yet. She could wait for Monday.

* * *

As promised, Harry arrived later that afternoon. The boys had no scheduled appearances, for once, so they were able to just relax. Ginny was touring with the Holyhead Harpies but Harry was planning to surprise her tomorrow. Tonight, it was just the four of them, and Hermione was pleased.

After dinner, Luna served her mother’s favorite cake, which was a surprisingly normal apple-spice flavor. Hermione devoured hers and then rose to get a second piece.

“Don’t eat too much,” Luna cautioned her. “It’s very potent.”

“Oookay,” Hermione replied, cutting her slice a bit smaller than she had planned. Idly she wondered if the cake contained a lot of sugar or fat, but she shrugged. She got plenty of exercise, so she’d simply enjoy her dessert.

They adjourned to one of the upstairs sitting rooms, and Ron and Harry entertained them with stories of some of the more interesting people they’d run into on their trips. Before long, Hermione found that every single story was the funniest she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t ever remember feeling so relaxed and happy. She grinned at her friends and decided to share a little bit of what she was feeling about Severus.

“I think Snape’s one of my best friends,” she announced, then quickly corrected, “aside from you lot, and Ginny of course...”

She saw Ron and Harry exchange a look, but Luna simply nodded.

“Why?” Ron asked, tentatively. Harry elbowed him and he frowned. “I just meant, he doesn’t seem like a bloke who has a lot of friends, that’s all.”

Hermione thought about this. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know why you’re his friend?” Ron blurted.

“No, I don’t know why he’s _my_ friend,” Hermione replied.

“You should ask him!” Luna offered.

Hermione sat up from where she had been reclining on the sofa. “I’m going to ask him!” She grinned at Luna. “Thanks, Luna, you always have the best ideas.”

She was busy rummaging for paper so she missed the furious whispering between the other three. Soon, though, she had her parchment in hand and she quickly dashed off a note to Snape, asking him why he was her friend. Humming to herself, she waited for the Grimmauld Place post owl. When it arrived, she place the note in its bag, then chucked it under the beak. “Thank you, you beautiful little thing, you!” She waved at it as it flew off, then returned to the sofa. “Where were we?”

“We were discussing you and these interesting feelings you have about Snape,” Harry prompted, trying not to smile but failing.

“Oooh. How did you know about the _feelings_? Am I that obvious?” Hermione crossed her eyes, trying to see her face. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as she thought.

“ _Feelings_ feelings?” Ron practically screeched.

The post owl blasted back into the room and dropped a parchment on Hermione’s lap, then settled on the armrest and waited. Curious, Hermione opened the parchment and read it out loud. “ ‘We’ll talk Monday...when you’re sober’. Well! Of all the nerve!” She furiously scribbled a response and gave it back to the owl. Once it had flown off, Hermione looked to her friends. “Can you believe the nerve of him? I can’t imagine why I thought he was attractive! I’ve only had a glass of wine with dinner, and he thinks I’m impaired?”

“Um, Hermione—” Harry began, but the owl was already back.

Hermione grabbed the parchment—her parchment—and saw that he’d answered her on the same sheet.

_What makes you think I’m not sober? -Hermione_

_You were concise. -S_

“Ugh!” Hermione crumpled the paper in her fist and looked to her friends. “I can be concise. Sometimes. When it’s necessary.”

“Of course you can,” Luna soothed.

“Hermione, about the cake—” Harry started.

“Wait! Just let her have this, old girl clearly needs a bit of relaxation,” Ron cut in. He gestured at her. “She’s dealing with a lot of _feelings_ ,” he stage-whispered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked from face to face, suddenly realizing that there was something she was missing. She looked again at the two notes from Snape, then back to Harry’s face. He was always the easiest nut to crack. “Harry James Potter. Why does Snape think I’m drunk?”

“You’re not drunk,” he was quick to assure her. “But, uh, Luna’s ‘special cake’—”

“ _Special_ cake?” Hermione squeaked. Suddenly, her laughter and sense of calm, not to mention her lack of inhibition about writing to Severus, clicked into place. She groaned. “Oh, bloody hell, Luna, what was in the cake?”

“It’s Mother’s recipe. It’s perfectly safe,” was all Luna said.

“Bit of mandrake root,” Ron explained.

Mandrake root—a powerful hallucinogenic. No wonder she felt so lovely, and no wonder Snape had said what he had. Hermione groaned again before covering her face with a pillow. 


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione arrived at the Ministry early on Monday, wanting to get her conversation with Severus over with as quickly as possible. He had barely stepped off the lift when she blurted, “We need to talk!”

Pausing with one foot in the air, he raised a brow. “May I approach for this talk, or do I need to stay over here?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione waved at their table. “Of course you can come here. Sorry, I just... I know I was the one who didn’t want to talk about this Friday, but I really feel that we need to clear the air about some things, and of course I’ll be happy to abide by whatever boundaries you feel are appropriate given that we work together and you used to be my professor, and—”

“For Salazar’s sake, witch, slow down,” he grumbled as he approached his side of the table. Leaning forward to rest his palms on the surface, he added, “I can only process a maximum of thirty words per second, and you’re easily approaching fifty. Luckily for you, I’ve already had a coffee, or else you’d be muted at the moment.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His lips quirked. “Are you certain about that?”

Hermione studied him for a second, then shook herself. He was distracting her. “As I was saying—”

“Here were go,” he muttered to himself.

“—there were some, ah, _things_ that were said on Friday, and I really feel we ought to clarify, just for sanity’s sake—”

“If you’re worried about my sanity, then why are you still rambling?” He rubbed his temple before he sat down. “I think I liked you better when you were high on Miss Lovegood’s cooking.”

Hermione blushed and stammered to a halt. “Who told you?”

“She wrote to me herself, apologizing. Said she had forgotten to tell you what was in the food.” He smirked. “Was it delicious?”

“Yes, actually.” Hermione caught herself about to change the topic, so she crossed her arms and refocused on him. “Normally, I know better than to ingest anything Luna puts in front of me, but I was a bit—oh, I don’t know, _distracted_ —this weekend. Which is entirely your fault!”

Severus coughed and Hermione narrowed her eyes. Was he _laughing_ at her? He cleared his throat and looked at her with an expression that seemed serious, but she rather thought he was faking it. “I’m sorry for distracting you.”

Not expecting an apology, Hermione fumbled. “Oh. Uh. Well. No harm done, really, I mean I _was_ about as high as a kite for a few hours on Saturday evening, but Luna and the boys took very good care of—wait a minute! Are you using your secret Legilimency powers to keep me off topic?”

“I would never.” He put a hand on his chest and _tsk_ ed. “I can’t believe you’d think that of me.”

“Hmm.” Hermione stared him down, but he didn’t waver. After a moment, she shrugged. “Very well then. I’ll just spit it out.”

“Thank Merlin.”

“You have feelings for me?”

He sucked in a breath and then started coughing in earnest. She thumped him on the back a time or two, then Accio’d a glass of water. Once he’d regained himself, she waited. When he did finally answer, all he said was, “Yes.”

Throwing her hands in the air, Hermione said, “I already knew that part, you dolt.”

“There’s no need for insults—” he began.

“Stop avoiding the topic—”

“If you would simply sit down and ask me the question you really wanted to instead of beating around the proverbial bush—”

“If you would just answer something directly for once in your life—”

“Helloooo, am I interrupting?” a syrupy voice asked.

Aggravated, Hermione spun to see a witch standing at the front of the table. “What?” she practically barked.

Taking a step back, the witch looked appalled, but she bravely forged ahead. “Yes. Hello. My name is Lavinia Tottenhomper. My sister, dear thing, her name is Marlinia Tottenhomper; anywhoooo, she lives in Portugal, and I need to get her a package of ingredients rather quickly for a potion she’s working on, you see, because they didn’t have what she needed in her town but the apothecary near my house _did_ , so I just bundled them right on up and now I need to send them—”

“International Magical Trading Standards, Level Five,” Hermione said at the same time Severus announced, “Floo Network Authority, Level Six.”

The witch looked between them several times, her eyes wide. Hermione had the sudden impression of a very confused rabbit and had to stifle a giggle.

“Level Five is International Magical Cooperation,” Hermione said, more to Severus than anyone.

“Yes, but the Department of Magical Transportation is Level Six,” he replied, his tone condescending.

“I _know_ that, but I fail to see what that has to do with _international magical trading_ ,” Hermione answered, using her I’m-Speaking-To-A-Flobberworm voice.

“And I fail to see what international cooperation has to do with _transporting_ a package,” he answered, just as patronizing.

“I’ll just find it myself...” the witch offered, but neither Hermione nor Severus acknowledged her. They were locked in a battle of wills and Hermione, for one, was determined to win.

“You’re wrong,” Hermione stated baldly.

“You’re presumptuous,” he retorted. Their guest sidled away from their table and then hurried away, but neither broke eye contact to watch her go.

“So are you,” she hissed, flicking her fingers and causing a loud popping sound near his feet.

Severus jerked his legs away, then glared at her. “Really, Miss Granger? Parlor tricks?” He pointed at _her_ feet and they immediately started to itch unbearably.

“Ugh!” Hermione lit the hems of his pants on fire with her bluebell flames.

“Thank you for proving once and for all that _was_ you in the Quidditch stands,” he sneered, snuffing the flames and then twirling his hand once. Small flames leapt to life in a circle around her.

Abandoning their banter for the moment, Hermione began casting a series of minor, irritating spells at him, one right after the other. Jelly-legs Jinx...Ebublio...Oppugno... Severus, for his part, blocked or otherwise fended off her attacks and countered with his own. Hermione found herself the recipient of both the Stinging and Tickling jinxes at the same time—very unpleasant—and then she felt the familiar sensation of a Petrificus Totalus hitting her.

“Ha!” he muttered, watching gleefully as her arms snapped to her sides.

Inwardly, Hermione grinned, although outwardly her face was frozen into whatever expression had been there when his spell hit. Focusing her thoughts on the Knockback jinx, she was pleased when Severus’ chair went toppling over—with him still in it. While he was down, she reversed the Petrificus, but she stayed where she was. She wanted him to think she was still frozen in place. Let that be a lesson to him that she could have secret powers, too.

His face, when it reappeared above the table, was grimly determined. She was ready, though, when he cast his Levicorpus, and her Protego sprang to life in spectacular form, causing Severus’ spell to bounce off and rebound. Hermione stared up at where the spell had lifted him into the air and smiled. “Oops,” was all she said.

“How did you know when I was about to cast it?” he grumbled, his expression bewildered.

Hermione’s grin widened. “You blink twice rapidly just before,” she told him. Then she shrugged. “I guess I don’t need extra-special Legilimency to anticipate my opponent’s next move, just good old-fashioned powers of observation.” She tilted her head as if she was considering this.

He glowered at her. “I wasn’t using Legilimency, you impertinent little—”

“Ah, children, I will say this—you two are never boring,” Fennica announced from behind them.

Hermione spun, surprised, and Severus crashed to the ground. He hauled himself ungraciously to his feet and muttered under his breath, “If only good old-fashioned powers of observation had notified you of someone’s arrival.”

Hermione glared at him but then turned a welcoming smile on Fennica. “Hello, Ms. Foxglove. What brings you to the, er, front desk?”

“I was hoping you would both join me for tea and biscuits,” she replied.

“Oh, but who will run the desk?” Hermione blurted out.

The looks that Severus and Fennica gave her were incredulous and amused, respectively. But it was Fennica who spoke. “I feel certain that guests will continue to find their way without your assistance.”

“Of course,” Hermione mumbled, following Fennica as she turned and headed down the hall. Hermione heard Severus fall into step behind her, and it was only then that she realized they _still_ hadn’t managed to discuss their ‘feelings’.

* * *

Thanks to EchoOfaWind for suggesting a wandless magic battle!


	17. Chapter 17

“Thank you for joining me,” Fennica said once they’d all settled at a table in the Ministry’s cafeteria. Privately, Hermione thought they hadn’t had much of a choice, even though Fennica had phrased it like a request. She reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall—firm and unwavering. It was just that Fennica Foxglove cloaked her spine of steel beneath a more saccharine manner.

And, just like McGonagall, she was very talented at making Hermione feel abashed with no more than a look.

Fennica studied them as she waited for her tea to finish stirring itself. Hermione fought the urge to squirm by nudging Severus’ knee with hers under the table. The man was taking up far more than his share of the bench and the faint brushes of his jumper against her arm were distracting. The infuriating man only seemed to expand in response, though, his leg coming to press against hers rather firmly and his shoulder bumping hers purposefully. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to budge up, but she didn’t have the chance.

“I’m curious—what was the nature of your argument just now, in the Atrium?” Fennica took a delicate sip of her tea, smiled, and waited.

“Oh, um, we were merely bored, weren’t we, Severus?” Hermione jumped in before he could mess it up.

“Speak for yourself. I was aggravated by Miss Granger’s haughty attitude regarding a visitor inquiry.” He glanced down at his fingers before brushing away an invisible speck.

Hermione gaped at him. “You mean you were embarrassed and defensive when I told you that your suggestion was wrong,” she argued.

“I was not wrong, so I was not embarrassed,” he retorted, still in that aggravating neutral tone. “If anything, Miss Granger became embarrassed when it became apparent to our visitor that she did not know the answer to everything.”

“You!” Hermione turned to face him and shoved his arm. “You can’t just admit when you make a mistake!”

“I assure you, I would admit to making an error...should I ever happen to make one.” Severus looked at her, an expression so full of challenge and arrogance that she laughed out loud.

Still grinning, Hermione relaxed back into her seat and shook her head. “Ms. Foxglove, I’m so sorry. What you must think of us! Please, don’t let this negatively impact Severus’ chances with your department. I’ve been the source of his aggravation since the first day I met him.”

Fennica waved one hand negligently through the air. “Oh, I knew we wanted you both from the outset, but we get so little entertainment down here that it truly has been a delight.”

While Hermione sat in stunned silence, still digesting that information, Fennica continued.

“I _did_ have to win you from Roland and Maurice, but my bid was ultimately successful,” she went on. “Now, about your cover stories. You will need to remain at your posts in the Atrium whenever possible, for visibility’s sake—”

“Excuse me,” Severus cut in. He looked as confused as Hermione felt. “Perhaps we could begin with some more basic information, such as what it is, exactly, you’ll be hiring us to do?”

“Oh, pardon me. I suppose you’re bursting with curiosity.” Fennica set aside her teacup and brushed away the crumbs from her biscuits.

“That would be her,” Severus said with a jerk of his head in Hermione’s direction.

“Rude,” she muttered under her breath. It was true, though.

“I work for the Department of Mysteries. You will report to me directly.” Fennica blinked at them expectantly.

“Yes, but...” Hermione trailed off. She had so many questions jockeying for position in her head, none would come out.

“Report to you about what, precisely?” Severus asked. Hermione was inordinately glad he was here to steer this conversation along.

“Mysteries. Literally, mysteries. Investigations. Cold cases. Special evaluations.” Fennica tilted her head, a small smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. “I trust neither of you has a problem with conducting research, examining details that may seem irrelevant to others, or occasionally disappearing from the public eye for undisclosed reasons?”

Severus stuck his hand out to shake Fennica’s. “It sounds like heaven. When can we start?”

But Hermione hesitated. “Can Ron and Harry know?” she asked. “No details, of course, only I don’t want to leave them to think that something’s gone terribly wrong.”

Fennica nodded once. “I believe you’ll find that your Auror friends will understand your need for secrecy once they hear that you’ve been hired by my department. I don’t intend to send you two out on undercover assignments all that often, given that you’re so...” she gestured between the two of them, “so noticeably _you_ , but there may still be some instances where you need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. We can talk about that more as we debrief each case.”

She stood, and Hermione and Severus followed suit. “I still have so many questions,” Hermione began.

“Shocking,” Severus deadpanned.

“When do we start? And, er, not to be crass, but—how will this affect my sentence with the Ministry? Will we have an actual salary?” Hermione bit her lip to keep the myriad other questions from spilling out. These were the most important, she reasoned.

“You’ve already started,” Fennica replied cryptically, “and your hours will continue to be worked off, albeit at a faster rate than before. I expect it will diminish your time by nearly half.” She smiled serenely. “I’ll be in touch.”

And then she turned and left.

“Why is she always doing that,” Hermione grumbled.

“At least she did answer your three most pressing questions,” Severus replied, heading back towards the door himself. “Perhaps she already has the good sense to walk away before you can fit in the other eight hundred.”

Hermione glared at his retreating back, and then, before she thought better of it, swished her hand and sent several plastic forks sailing towards his head.

He Vanished them moments before impact. “Not your best,” he shot back without even turning to look at her.

“Stubborn arse,” she muttered before following him into the long hallway leading back to the Atrium. She quickly caught up to him and decided to change the topic. “At least our time will be paid off faster! That’s good news.”

“Yes. Congratulations on your promotion and doubled paycheck.” He sounded bored, and Hermione struggled to remember why she had so recently thought of him as a friend.

“Well, it’s certainly better than _not_ working down our time,” she huffed. “So congratulations to you as well—now you’ll only have, what, nine years of indentured servitude? You might even still be alive by the time it’s done.”

“For which I am grateful.”

“It’d be nicer if they paid us,” she grumbled.

“They are paying us,” he replied.

“They’re not _paying_ us,” Hermione reminded him. “They’re letting us reduce our time more quickly.”

“Very well. They’re not paying us, per se,” Severus countered.

“That’s what I said—we aren’t getting paid.” She rolled her eyes even though she doubted he was looking.

“We’re not getting paid _per se_.” His continued emphasis on the _per se_ was starting to drive her bonkers.

“It’s the same, isn’t it?” she asked. Rhetorically.

“Is it?” he responded. Philosophically.

“You are the most maddening, vexing—”

“Those are redundant.”

“Argh!” Hermione launched into a diatribe. “My point is that no matter what my ‘salary’ is, I’m still not—mmmph!”

Her back hit the wall as Severus pressed his mouth and body to hers. It took a moment for her brain to catch up, so her lips were still lecturing him even as she registered that he was kissing her. _He was kissing her!_ She pulled her head back and gaped at him. “Why are you—never mind.” She shook herself, wondering why she was wasting this opportunity with words. Instead she gripped the front of his jumper and pulled his lips back to hers.

Their lips crashed together in frenzied need, both of them struggling to subdue the other. Hermione gripped his jumper tighter and held him to her, even though he was making no move to leave. When his tongue thrust into her mouth, she moaned and arched into him, desperate for more.

Abruptly, Severus broke their kiss and stepped back, pressing himself against the opposite wall of the hallway. Hermione stared at him, her brain a muddle and her mouth commanding her to get back to kissing. Severus’ face was flushed and his eyes were more intense than she’d ever seen them.

“What...was that?” she panted.

“The most expedient way to shut you up that I’ve found to date?” His voice was a mere rasp, and pleasurable goosebumps erupted all over Hermione’s skin.

She debated chastising him, but her lust-addled brain took over and she launched herself across the narrow hall to him. This time she pressed _him_ against the wall and sealed her lips to his. His hands gripped her hips before sliding lower to shape her derriere. Hermione rocked against him, holding his face with both hands and tangling her tongue happily with his.

It was only once she attempted to climb him and his hands slipped to the insides of her thighs that sense reasserted itself.

Gingerly sliding out of his grip and stepping back to her side of the hallway, Hermione cleared her throat. “Ah. That was...” She swallowed again but no words came to mind, for once.

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically, as if he agreed wholeheartedly with her lack of assessment.

Hermione let her eyes rove over him, taking in the wrinkles on his jumper and his mussed hair. Both of which she had done. Why that felt like her greatest accomplishment in life, she could not say. She really wanted to cross the hallway again and continue where they’d left off, but part of her was wondering if they’d just ruined everything. And once again, words were failing her. She hated to admit it, but kissing her really _had_ been the most expedient way to shut her up.

“As I told you,” Severus said, smugly.

“Don’t Legilimise me!” Hermione clapped a hand over her eyes before she remembered he didn’t require her eye contact. “Argh!” She covered her ears and glared at him, instead.

But he only smirked. “Would it bother you to know that I could divine the direction of your thoughts merely because your expressions give you away?”

“No! I mean yes!” Hermione shook her head, trying to clear away the desire still clouding her judgment. Her hair sprung free and the elastic flew off into the darkness of the hallway. She crossed her arms and drew in a deep breath through her nose. Unfortunately, it just made her realize that now she smelled like him. Her nipples tried to perk up but she squashed her arms down harder against her chest, willing her hormones to settle.

“I suppose now we finally get to have our awkward conversation,” Severus murmured.

“I suppose so,” Hermione agreed. Then they both spoke at once.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship—”  
“I shall remain professional from this point forward—”  
“We’re about to start a new job—”  
“Simply the stress of the past few days—"

They stared at one another, Severus’ expression unreadable and Hermione feeling as if she was laid bare before him. In a vulnerable way, not a sexy one. Sadly.

“Is this—is this going to change things between us?” she finally managed, pleased with herself for sounding far more collected than she was.

He studied her for a moment, then replied, “No, it doesn’t have to. Do you think it will?”

“Of course not. Simply stress, like you said.” She nodded once, the movement jerky.

“Good.” He nodded too.

“Good.”

Unsure how to continue that line of conversation, Hermione resumed their trek back to the front desk. Severus fell into step behind her. Hermione was oddly disappointed that he seemed unmoved, even though she certainly hadn’t the courage to say otherwise herself.

* * *

AN: Oof, sorry for the long break. Hoping to dive back into this!


	18. Chapter 18

“AAAAAAHHHH!”

Ginny flinched at the scream coming from upstairs. “How long did you say she’d been doing this?” she asked Luna.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! IMBECILE!”

Luna waited a beat for the screaming to stop, then replied, “Since she arrived an hour ago.” Unperturbed, she took another sip of her tea and turned the page of her magizoology journal.

“Do you think we should—”

“STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!”

“—go check on her?” Ginny asked. Again.

“I’m sure Hermione will come down—”

“OF ALL THE BLOODY STUPID THINGS YOU COULD HAVE DONE!”

“—when she’s ready,” Luna finished.

Ginny sighed and drummed her fingers on the table. Luna had summoned her with their old DA coins, which usually meant the situation was dire. But since she’d tumbled through the Floo more than twenty minutes ago, Luna had kept fairly mum and Hermione—well, Hermione was having an epic fit in the drawing room. Not being a person who was content with sitting around doing nothing, Ginny stood and called for Kreacher. When he appeared, she requested a few items and waited while he popped out of sight. It was mere moments before he was back again, handing her a stack of old plates and a bottle of Ogden’s Finest. She thanked him and turned to Luna. “I’m going to put an end to this,” she said. “Are you coming?”

“I suppose I’d better.” Luna set down her tea and, eyeing Ginny’s armful, grabbed a couple empty teacups.

They made their way upstairs, and Ginny paused outside the door, drawing a deep breath. Whatever had happened, surely it couldn’t truly be this bad?

“WHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?” came from inside the room.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake, Granger,” Ginny grumbled, kicking open the door. “What in the name of Godric Gryffindor is wrong with you?”

Inside, Hermione was pacing, her hair looking as manic and frazzled as her expression. She spun to stare at Ginny and Luna with a look of sheer panic.

Ginny held out the plates. “Want to smash them in the fireplace?”

Hermione blinked several times, clearly taken aback. Then she reached for the top plate and threw it gingerly toward the bricks. It shattered with a satisfying sound. Luna whimpered and started to take a step towards the grate, but Ginny waved her back. “Let her smash a few, it always makes me feel better,” Ginny whispered.

“But the porcelain!” Luna moaned. “That pattern was hand-painted by artisans in Clapham!”

Shrugging, Ginny held out another plate to Hermione. “Buy more,” she whispered back to Luna. “Hermione, dear, you’re going to want to really put some muscle into it,” she said, louder.

For several moments, the only sounds in the room were plates shattering against the hearth. When Hermione took the last one, Ginny began to call for Kreacher, but Luna interrupted.

“Perhaps you could just use your words now?” she asked Hermione, somewhat desperately. She cradled the teacups protectively against her chest.

“I KISSED SEVERUS!” Hermione blurted out, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Oh, shit,” Ginny said. She uncorked the Firewhisky, then took a long swallow. “Kreacher! We’re going to need more Ogden’s!” she shouted, then handed the bottle to Hermione.

“I brought cups for that,” Luna mumbled. Ginny ignored her and took another healthy gulp when Hermione passed the bottle back.

“Severus _Snape_?” Ginny asked. Not that she knew any other Severus’, but it seemed important to clarify.

Hermione nodded, her eyes huge in her face.

“Oh, shit,” Ginny said again. She sank down to the thick carpet and prepared to be there for a while. Luna made a grab for the bottle when Ginny held it back to Hermione, pouring a splash into each of the teacups and handing them out. Ginny drained hers in one and held the cup out to Luna with narrowed eyes. This time Luna filled it to the brim.

Kreacher popped in just long enough to set the second bottle on the table and then disappeared. In some regards, Ginny envied him. This was going to be a very tricky tangle, indeed. Hermione was usually sensible—perhaps even to a fault. Cocking her head and staring at her friend, Ginny considered what she knew about Hermione, and what she remembered about Professor Snape. Granted, she didn’t have the best relationship with the man himself, owing to their encounters during the year he was Headmaster. But, she knew as well as anyone else the toll that war could take, and she decided to give him as fair a shake as she could. Nodding to herself, she marshalled her thoughts.

“So. First things first. Did he kiss you back, yes or no?” Ginny asked.

“Yes. He kissed me first, actually,” Hermione said. Ginny took it as a good sign that she was no longer shouting.

“Well, that’s lovely then!” Luna exclaimed, taking a chair by the fireplace. When Hermione and Ginny glared at her, she frowned. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what it _means_!” Hermione wailed, resuming her pacing.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Ginny prodded.

Hermione nodded. “Right. Yes. It was just after we found out we’d been promoted, and—”

“Wait, you got a new job?” Ginny made a T with her hands. “Time out. I thought you had been sentenced to working the front desk?”

Hermione huffed out a breath and plopped down onto the carpet as well. “I was. I am. But Severus and I saw a job posting for the Department of Mysteries, and we applied and were interviewed and then today we found out we got the job. Jobs. Job? The particulars are...still a little unclear.” Hermione’s brow winkled and she shook herself. “Anyway. They’re going to commute our sentences, or something like that. Again...unclear. But! The point is, we were walking back to the desk, and we were arguing, and then he’d pushed me against the wall and kissed me.”

“Oh, I do love fight kissing,” Luna said, her eyes going soft and dreamy.

“Please remember our agreement about not discussing your love life in front of me,” Ginny said with a shudder. Then she turned back to Hermione. “What then?”

“Well, then he told me it was the best way he’d found for shutting me up. And I wanted to be angry about that, but then _I_ kissed _him_ and things got...intense.” Hermione bit her lip.

“That doesn’t sound so bad—”

“AND THEN, I asked if the kiss was going to change things between us, and we both agreed it wouldn’t, and then we just sat in awkward silence the rest of the day! UGH!”

Hermione jumped back up and started pacing again, and Ginny sighed. She had hoped they were past the screaming. Moving slowly, she tugged the second bottle of Firewhisky over to her and refilled her teacup quietly, keeping a watchful eye on Luna the whole time.

“You never ask if it’s going to change things,” Ginny said.

“Never,” Luna agreed. “Although, you did. Do you still have your TimeTurner?”

“No!” Hermione looked scandalized. “No. Look, I don’t want to undo it...the kissing. But what do I do _now_? We agreed that we didn’t want to mess things up.”

Luna set her cup down and gave Hermione a very McGonagallesque look. “Did you both agree to that, or did you both just say what you thought the other wanted to hear?”

“I—” Hermione’s mouth snapped shut as she considered this.

“Luna’s right, Hermione. You need to have an honest talk—and not while you’re at work. Ask him to dinner at your place and hash it out like adults.”

“Or you need to just shag his brains out,” Luna suggested matter-of-factly.

“Or that,” Ginny agreed.

In response, Hermione just tossed her teacup into the grate with the rest of the shattered ceramics and reached for the nearest open Ogden’s bottle.


	19. Chapter 19

"Tell us again about the part where he pushed you against the wall," Luna urged Hermione several hours later. "I love that part." She sighed happily and continued twirling her wand in the air, creating rainbow-colored dust motes. They spun and danced drunkenly around the room before falling to the floor and disappearing.

Hermione giggled. The dust motes looked as dizzy as she felt. Listing to the side, she looked into her teacup and was disappointed to find it empty. Glancing around the room, she didn't see any of the bottles anywhere to refill. She shrugged and the movement sent her slipping even further to the side. She smiled again, remembering Severus' kiss. "He did. He pushed me right into the wall and kissed me. He wasn't even gentle." Her grin widened.

"So hot," Ginny mumbled from where she was sprawled on the sofa. Then she yawned. "Hey. Do you think the boysh are ashleep yet?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied.

"Let's call them!" Luna crawled on her hands and knees to the fireplace. "Hey fireplace! We want to talk to the boys, please!" She waited patiently for a moment and then said again, louder, "Ahem! Fireplace, sir! Call the boys!" When nothing happened, she rocked back on her haunches. "I think it's broken."

"You need Floopowder," Ginny said. "Floop Owder. Flooooooooo Pooooooowwwwwwderrrrr. FLOOPOWER!" She started laughing and Hermione laughed with her.

"Why are magical words just silly?" Hermione asked the ceiling. "What even IS a Hufflepuff?"

This only made Ginny laugh harder, and even Luna giggled. But then Hermione's brain brought her back to the crux of the whole matter, which was that somehow she was going to have to work in close proximity with Severus Snape, a man whose tongue had been _in her mouth_ , and she was going to have to act normally?

Groaning, Hermione covered her eyes. "His tongue was IN. My MOUTH!" she wailed.

"Wow, this is...not what I was expecting," Harry's voice broke in from the doorway.

Hermione bolted upright, or tried to. In actuality she was upright for only a moment before she slumped over to the other side. Luna was so startled, she had tumbled arse over teakettle by the hearth and was flailing around behind the armchair.

Ginny had the good sense to remain where she was, but her shout of "HARRY POTTER, THE CHOSEN ONE IS HERE!" had her giggling so hard again that she was gasping for air.

"We just tried to call you," Hermione said. She could see better with one eye closed, so she squinted in Harry's direction. "Oh, Ron, you're here too!"

"Story of my life," Ron muttered. From her position on the sofa, Hermione watched the boys take in the scene before them. They didn't waste much time freeing Luna and setting her in the chair. Ron kneeled in front of her and Hermione couldn't hear what they were saying. Then Harry was filling her vision and she grinned up at him.

"What's a Hufflepuff?" she asked.

"I'll give him this, when Kreacher says it's bad, he means it," Harry muttered. He propped his fists on his hips and looked affectionately between her and Ginny. "How much have you ladies had tonight, Gin?"

Ginny laughed again. "We didn't have any gin!"

Harry sighed. "Alright. I think it's time we get you all off to bed." He bent down to scoop Ginny up.

"Oooh, bed. Do you want to explore my _chamber of secrets_?" Ginny asked him with a deep voice and an eyebrow waggle. She cracked up again.

"That one's awful," Hermione commented. She wrinkled her nose in thought, then brightened. "Why don't you see if he wants to _Slytherin_? HA!"

Now they were both laughing, and Harry looked pained. "I'll be right back for you, Hermione," he promised. Lifting Ginny easily, he exited the room, and Hermione heard his footsteps going slowly up the stairs.

"Take your time," she called out, even though he was already gone. "I need to go home," she announced to the room.

"Not tonight, you don't." Ron stood and faced her. "You lot are really pissed, huh?"

"Sozzled," Hermione agreed.

"Totally legless," Luna offered.

"Do I want to know why?" Ron asked.

"NO!" Luna and Hermione both shouted at the same time. Hermione gave Luna a lopsided smile.

"In that case, let's get you upstairs." Ron brushed his hands on his trousers and reached for Luna. "Come on, love. Sleepy time."

"I love sleepy time," Luna murmured, letting Ron pull her to her feet. He bent and lifted her over his shoulder, securing her to him with both arms wrapped around her legs.

"Oh, I would be careful," Hermione said. "She might toss up her accounts."

"Do you always use formal English when you drink?" he asked her. "Sozzled, tossing up accounts. What are you sitting on, a davenport?"

Hermione stared down at the sofa, confused. She looked back to Ron. "Obviously."

He chuckled and walked towards the door. "Luna prefers to be carried upside down when she gets like this," he explained.

"It helps the Flimflams sort themselves out faster. I'll be somber as a juggler by morning." Luna sent a little wave Hermione's way.

"Sober as a judge," Hermione corrected.

"What does _that_ mean?" Luna responded as Ron carted her out the door.

"What does Hufflepuff mean?" Hermione asked the empty room. Bored, she waved her hand in the air and tried to conjure the dust motes that Luna had before. All she got was a bright pink explosion of fluff that drifted down and covered everything. "Whoops," she muttered. Deciding she didn't want to be caught here, she slowly stood and took a few steps towards the door. Then the damn door shifted to the left, so she staggered that direction, blowing out a frustrated breath when it slid to the right again. "I hate these moving staircases!" she growled, keeping her hands on the back of the sofa as she kept moving forward.

She was nearly at the door when Harry popped back through. "Whoa, there—"

"I didn't do it!" she shouted, gesturing behind her at the pinkness. Unfortunately, she overset her tenuous balance and started to topple over.

Harry grabbed her arms and held her up. "I don't think I've ever seen Hermione Granger this soused before," he commented, grinning at her.

"Hermione Granger has never kissed her professor before," she replied, then burst into tears.

"Ahh...right. Listen, let's get you upstairs and tucked in, yeah?" He brushed the tears off her cheeks, then looped her arm over his shoulder and anchored her to his side. "So, which one was it? McGonagall? Vector? Longbottom?" He grimaced. "Please tell me it wasn't Binns."

"Very funny, Harry Potter!" Hermione sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand. "You know who," she said, dejectedly.

Harry jerked to a stop and gaped at her. "Voldemort's _back_?!" he gasped. Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed him. He grinned and then continued walking them towards the stairs. "So. You and Snape, then?"

Hermione nodded miserably. "I think—I think I've already buggered it up," she admitted. "He said professional, and I said we're friends, and then he was all 'This doesn't change anything', and still all I can think about is how good his hands felt on my—"

"There you are!" Ron interjected, a note of panic in his voice as reached the bottom of the stairs just as they approached. "Luna's down for the count. I've got a nice warm shower turned on for you, Hermione, and then we'll get you into bed, doesn't that sound nice?"

Hermione frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, I couldn't handle both of you at once," she said. "And besides, Ginny and Luna would _not_ be pleased."

"Bloody hell, Hermione—"

"I think he meant put you to sleep," Harry cut in. "We're just going to get you rinsed off and tucked in."

"Oh, good," Hermione yawned. "I'm too tired for sexual congress, anyway."

"Sexual—what?" Ron grimaced at Harry, who shrugged. Ron put her other arm around his shoulders and then the boys carried her up the steps and into the bathroom. The warm steam from the shower swirled against the ceiling, and Hermione grinned and reached for it.

"Come on," Harry urged, tugging her towards the bath. "You reek."

Hermione giggled. " _You_ reek!"

Shaking his head, Harry stepped under the spray with her, letting the water hit her squarely in the face. "Hey!" she spluttered.

"It's for your own good," Ron called from his—dry—position by the sink. "Do you have any idea how many times you've sobered us up? And you always use cold water!"

"It's effective," she argued, then yawned again. She rested her forehead on Harry's shoulder, sighing. "I love you, you know," she told them.

"We know," Harry said. "We love you too. Which is why..." He reached behind him and twisted the knob, immersing them both in suddenly cold water.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" Hermione screeched, jumping out of the tub and yanking the towel out of Ron's hands. "They will never find your body, Harry, I swear..."

Harry just shook the water out of his hair and waited while Hermione outlined all the ways she was going to torture him before she finally allowed him to die. Ron was silently siphoning away water with his wand while Hermione inadequately tried to dry herself with the towel. Finally she had calmed down, and Ron turned his wand on Harry.

"Sorry, mate. We figured you'd rather suffer that than the indignity of having us undress you and put you in pajamas." Ron tucked his wand back in his pocket and grinned at her. "Not that I'd complain, mind—"

"Ugh! Just—just go curl up with your girlfriend. I'm going to bed now. ALONE." Hermione stomped out of the bathroom and down the hall to her borrowed bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

She had to admit, though, as she changed and climbed under the covers, that they really had thought the whole thing through rather well. Smiling to herself as she drifted off, she reflected that her 'boys' had grown up into rather respectable men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the life of me, I can't figure out why AO3 occasionally posts my initial "end note" on some chapters. Just ignore it!


	20. Chapter 20

In far fewer hours than she would have liked, Hermione was awakened by a far-too-cheerful Dobby.

“Miss Granger, miss! Miss must wake up for work!” Dobby coupled this announcement with yanking her curtains open, and Hermione flinched and groaned. She tried to pull the covers over her head, but he snapped his fingers and they vanished completely. “Miss must not be late! The great Harry Potter entrusted Dobby to take care of you this morning and Dobby does not wish to disappoint!”

Sighing, Hermione kept her eyes squeezed shut as she sat up, slowly. “Did ‘the great Harry Potter’ happen to send any Pepper-Up Potion?” she grumbled.

“Master Harry sends something better,” Dobby enthused, extracting a scroll of parchment from his tea towel. “Master Harry sends Miss Granger a hand-written note!” He extended it to her on both hands, as if he held the most precious belonging in all the world. The awe evident on his tiny face had Hermione rolling her eyes to herself.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione gritted out. She took the parchment and unrolled it. Dobby disappeared with a snap, promising to return with her breakfast. Harry’s message was short: ‘Hermione, we consider ourselves fortunate to finally be able to provide for you the same care and concern you’ve provided to us on numerous occasions. Love, Harry’. Ron’s post-script was simply, ‘Payback feels bloody good!’

Muttering to herself about disrespectable, immature boys, Hermione made her way to the bathroom. She felt marginally more human after splashing cold water on her face and gulping down an entire glass. She had completely forgotten about Dobby’s presence until she re-entered the bedroom and he let out a loud cheer.

“Miss Granger is upright! Master Harry and Master Weasley said that Miss Granger would throw things at Dobby, but Miss Granger is all that is kind and benevolent.” Dobby snapped his fingers and her clothing appeared on her bed, along with her robe and wand. “Miss Granger’s breakfast is arranged by the window for optimal viewing—”

“Thank you, Dobby, but as you can see, I’m good.” Hermione just wanted him gone so she could crawl back into bed.

“Oh, but miss, Dobby is Miss Granger’s escort to work today. Dobby has been given the highest honor—”

The elf’s theatrics were getting on Hermone’s last nerve. “Dobby! You can take me to work, but only if you go check on Ginny and Luna first. I’ll get dressed and eat while you’re gone, I promise.”

His eyes filled with tears and if Hermione thought he was capable of sarcasm, she would have suspected he was laying it on thick. “Dobby was wrong. Dobby has been granted an even higher honor. Dobby has been entrusted with the care of Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood. Dobby will not fail!”

He disappeared and Hermione shook her head. She would never understand house-elf psychology, that was clear. She only felt vaguely ashamed about siccing him on her friends, but seeing as they were dating Ron and Harry, she hoped that the boys would get an earful about it later. And then she would have had her own little bit of payback.

* * *

Dobby delivered Hermione to the Atrium, bowing and scraping the entire way. Honestly, Hermione didn’t know where he got his energy—if she could somehow bottle it, she’d be wealthy indeed. There was a tense moment where Dobby saw Snape and froze; however, he’d quickly bowed even lower and thanked the errant Headmaster for his service before popping back into the ether.

Severus looked at Hermione and raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t ask,” she muttered, slouching down in her chair and trying to pull her hair over her eyes to block out the light. “Do you think they could turn down the ambient echo in here?”

A slow grin started to spread on Severus’ face. “Hermione Granger. Are you hungover?”

“Obscenely so, yes. Please keep it down.” Hermione frowned at him and fluffed her hair over her ears some more.

“On a Tuesday? My, my. The younger generation has no innate sense of professionalism, none at all.” Severus’ voice seemed to boom from where he was standing. Hermione ground her teeth together and resolved not to give him the reaction he was so clearly looking for.

He smirked at her again and came around the table to take his seat. Was it just her, or was he dragging his chair out as slowly as possible? Hermione closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on her breathing, but the scrape of the chair against the tiles had her nerves jangling unpleasantly.

“Good morning!” Severus exclaimed a moment later. Hermione winced. “How can we be of service to you on this fine morning?”

He was being loud on purpose, she just knew it. Forcing her eyes open, she saw that there was already a line of people at their table. _Bloody fucking wonderful._

The next hour felt like twelve. Hermione knew without a doubt that Severus was projecting his voice more than necessary, and often, he was acting as if he couldn’t hear what the visitors were saying, encouraging them to shout as well. He scooted his chair constantly, the _scratch-squeak_ nearly causing her to vomit at least twice. She was in complete and utter agony by the time their line cleared.

“I’m going to the loo,” she mumbled, gingerly sliding out of her chair and striding off without waiting for a response. Once she entered the ladies’, she locked the outer door and sank into the small, sad armchair that had been abandoned to the restroom likely before she was even born. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but at least the bathroom was blessedly silent. Closing her eyes, she gently massaged her temples and tried to get her sluggish brain to _think_. Surely there was a dispensary somewhere in the building—if she could only get her hands on a sobering potion, that would help immensely. Resolved to go in search of one, she pushed to her feet and grimaced her reflection in the mirror.

“Horrid,” she groused.

“I say! You’re not looking so fabulous either, I’ll have you know!” the mirror snapped back.

Hermione shook her head and briefly rued the day she entered magical society at all. Muggle Hermione likely would have gone to a sedate university to become a librarian, where she would never have fallen in love with any of her professors, much less her coworkers— _Oh, my god. Love? No. Nonononono._

Panicked now, Hermione dashed down to the cafeteria to ask about a MediWitch on staff. Surely this absurd thought of love was simply a by-product of her addled brains. No one should drink that much Firewhisky and be forced to show up for work mere hours after. It was cruel, really.

Thankfully, the cafeteria maintained a small supply of common potions, so Hermione was able to down a swallow of Pepper-Up. It wasn’t quite what she needed, but she was loathe to ask for a sobering potion at work, so she settled for second best. She waited until the steam stopped coming out of her ears, and then she marched back to the Atrium. At least now her head had ceased pounding and her eyes didn’t ache. She felt fairly confident that Severus’ taunting wouldn’t affect her as strongly as before.

But she was wrong again. She skidded to a halt when she saw Severus conversing with Ron and Harry at the table. She hesitated for a moment before turning to escape, but her hesitation cost her.

“Hermione!” Ron called gleefully. Slowly facing them again, Hermione gave a half-hearted wave and approached the table.

“Ron. Harry. How nice to see you. Here.” She hoped her glare conveyed her true feelings about the matter, but both boys grinned unrepentantly at her.

“It IS nice!” Ron fairly bellowed, clapping her on the shoulder.

Severus examined her closely and Hermione felt her face flush. “Weasley, it’s clear Hermione found some Pepper-Up during her absence. There’s no point in continuing to shout.”

Annoyed that he could read her so well, Hermione crossed her arms and directed all her grumpiness at Ron and Harry. “Sending Dobby was low, even for you.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Trust us, you do not want a Kreacher wake-up. He insists on dressing you himself.”

Hermione shuddered. “I didn’t realize. I’m...sorry.”

“I take it this is a frequent occurrence,” Severus intoned, and Harry shot him a grin as well.

“Not as often anymore, but it was fairly constant when we first...ah, when we were first living in Grimmauld Place.” Harry’s smile fell as he glossed over those horrendous first months after the fall of Voldemort. Their world was in shambles, everyone was coping with the loss of loved ones, and the press scrutiny focused on Harry and his loved ones was best described as “fanatical”. Hermione had often found one or both of the boys passed out in the kitchen, and it had taken the efforts of herself and Kreacher to get them bundled off to bed. She’d spent many nights caring for them while they were sick, and then watching over them to make sure they didn’t inadvertently hurt themselves while they slept. And, yes, she’d sicced Kreacher on them in the mornings, but that was only to spare them the embarrassment of being subjected to her care when they were sober enough to realize it. Apparently, however, she hadn’t quite realized what she’d put them through. The thought of Dobby attempting to dress her this morning was horrifying.

“I have to say, when Kreacher popped in last night and said it was an emergency, a bunch of drunk witches was not what I was expecting,” Ron put in.

“We only had two bottles of Ogden’s, they must have been particularly potent,” Hermione said.

Harry goggled at her. “Hermione...there were seven empties.”

“What?”

Both boys were nodding. “Kreacher said he kept removing them but then someone kept summoning more from the cellar.” Harry arched a brow at her as if to say, _I wonder who that someone might be?_

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well. Ah. Then my current state makes a lot more sense.”

“Undoubtedly.” Severus eyed her speculatively again, and Hermione felt certain parts of her anatomy perk up. His next words had her jaw dropping open: “I’m impressed, Granger. So much alcohol for someone of your...stature.”

Aware of all three of them examining her _stature_ , Hermione bristled. “Don’t you two have somewhere else to be?” she groused.

Ron laughed. “Itching to be rid of us? I see how it is.” He leaned over and gave her a brief hug. “Hopefully last night at least got your mind off of whoever’s tongue was in your mouth—”

“Wow, look at the time!” Harry gripped Ron’s arm and practically dragged him towards the lift. “Bye!”

She could hear Ron asking what he’d said, and Harry, thankfully, didn’t answer, or at least not until they were out of earshot. Hermione’s cheeks were hot and she inhaled deeply, trying to regain her equilibrium.

But Severus was having none of that. He moved to stand directly in her line of sight and let his eyes roam over her body again. Hermione was acutely aware of the fact that he had mapped her _stature_ with his hands the day before, which was the whole reason she’d gone and drank her share of seven bottles of Firewhisky. Holding her ground, Hermione simply stared back at him. Then, thinking better of that, she decided to let _her_ eyes rove all over _his_ body.

Which turned out to be a mistake, because she noticed the lines of his shoulders under his robe, and the soft wool of his jumper, and the precise pleats of his trousers which simply begged to be mussed. Huffing out a breath, Hermione propped her fists on her hips. “Well?” she demanded.

Severus’ lips quirked. Then he moved closer and leaned down to murmur, “I simply meant that you’re quite compact, and I admire anyone who can drink that much Firewhisky and stroll into work the next morning looking as...delicious...as you do this morning.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry. “That’s not playing fair.”

“I don’t play.”

He was looking at her so intently, she knew he was going to kiss her again. Right here, out in the open. She swayed toward him just as he stepped around her to return to his seat. Confused, she blinked at the place where he’d just been standing.

“Shall I read to you from this autobiography? To calm your lingering headache?” Severus produced a grotesque lime-green novel with a photo of Rita Skeeter on the front. Opening it, he read the first sentence, then looked at her with laughter in his eyes.

“I hate you,” Hermione growled, stomping back to her seat and turning her chair a few degrees away from him.

But he merely leaned over and spoke right into her ear. “I can work with that, minx,” he said before he straightened and droned on through the first chapter of Skeeter’s book.

Hermione put her head on the desk with the sinking feeling that she had permanently lost the upper hand in this battle of wills.


	21. Chapter 21

By the end of the day, Hermione’s headache was back with a vengeance—but she suspected it was more due to Severus’ proximity and her anxiety than to anything else.

Not to mention he was still regaling her with excerpts from Rita Skeeter’s autobiography.

“...when the Minister of Magic offered me a medal of honor, which I naturally declined out of sheer modesty...”

Hermione slapped the book out of his hands. “Enough,” she growled, only marginally sorry to have treated a book, albeit a miserable one, in such a careless way.

“You’re grumpier than a niffler in a parchment mill,” Severus remarked, picking the book up and dusting it off.

“What?”

“Parchment. Paper. Nothing shiny.” He straightened, slipped the book back into his robe pocket, and steepled his fingers. “Would you like a Sober-Up potion? The Pepper-Up wore off some time ago, I imagine.”

“No, I’ll manage.” Hermione heaved a sigh and gazed up at the ceiling. “I just did not expect this new job to leave me sitting at the old one.”

“Hm. True. But it has only been a day, after all.” He unlaced his fingers and drummed them on the table. “You’re sure there’s nothing else irritating you at the moment?”

Hermione shot him a look. “Why would there be? I’ve only been plagued by nearly every single aggravating male of my acquaintance today—”

“There you are! Miss Granger, Mister Snape, good afternoon,” Melvin called as he approached.

“Fantastic. You thunk him into existence,” Severus stage-whispered as Hermione groaned.

“Thunk isn’t a word!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not!” she hissed. Melvin stopped in front of their table and gave them a nervous smile. Deciding to use her foul mood for the greater good, Hermione scowled at him. “What is it, Melvin?”

To his credit, Melvin only swallowed hard before charging on. “My superiors have informed me that you’ll be called away from the desk from time to time,” he began.

“Please thank your superiors for that great favor,” Hermione grumbled. Beside her, Severus sucked in a chuckle.

“I wanted to ensure that the front desk remains operational during those times,” he forged ahead. “Our greeting is our first impression, after all, and so I have hired another wizard to fill in as needed. I trust you will train him up to the standards I expect.”

“I trust you have no idea what standards are,” Hermione added. Melvin frowned at her before stepping aside and gesturing for someone to join them. It was only at that moment that Hermione realized their ‘replacement’ had been standing there the whole time.

“May I introduce—”

“Don’t bother. We’re acquainted.” Draco Malfoy sauntered forward and stood directly in front of the table, his eyes practically daring them to say something unfavorable.

_In for a penny, in for a pound_ , Hermione thought. She straightened and smiled her brightest front-desk smile. “Acquainted very well, aren’t we, Malfoy? Say, did that rash on your tallywacker ever clear up?”

Severus made a choking sound and Draco’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Everything’s fine now, thanks for asking,” he growled.

Hermione simply smiled at him again and then turned her attention to Melvin. “Bad business, that. No one really knows whether it was a Dark curse or something he picked up at that parlor in Knockturn Alley, but—”

“ _So_ glad to be working with you, Granger, as always,” Draco cut in. “Can we just skip the pleasantries and get to the training so we can all go home?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Melvin said as he hurried away, shooting worried glances back over his shoulder.

“You just had to bring that up,” Draco muttered. Then he smirked and opened his arms. Hermione jumped up and hugged him, swatting him on the shoulder when they separated.

“You don’t always have to be so unpleasant,” she chastised him. “We could simply be coolly indifferent.”

“Ah, where’s the fun in that?” he asked. Pivoting slightly, he held his hand out to Severus, who shook it heartily. “Professor. You’re looking well.”

“There’s no need to call me Professor. As I keep reminding you,” Severus said. He was eyeing the two of them curiously.

“He’d like to be called Irrelevant,” Hermione supplied helpfully.

Severus frowned at her. “That was ages ago. How do you remember these things?”

“Her brain is scary,” Draco put in.

“It is,” Hermione agreed happily. “Draco, how was Switzerland? When did you get back?”

For the next several minutes, Draco regaled them with tales of his recent trip. He and his parents had left the country for a while following the end of their trials and sentencing. Now they were back, and apparently his sentencing had landed him at the front desk.

“What do I need to know?” he asked.

“The directory of offices is here. You just note their name and where you sent them. Severus and I like to see how sarcastic we can be without them realizing.” She grinned at Severus and missed Draco’s eyebrows shooting up.

“ _Severus and you_ , is that so? How utterly intriguing,” Draco purred.

“We don’t know yet when we’ll be gone,” Hermione went on, oblivious to the interest sparking in Draco’s eyes. “But if you’re here when we are, just remember to keep up the charade in public.”

“As if you’d let me forget. Termagant,” he teased her fondly.

“Pompous ass,” she teased him back. Severus merely observed them, looking perplexed.

“I’m off to meet Pansy for dinner, then.” Draco checked his watch before arching a brow at Hermione. “You look like shit, Granger. Go home and take some Sober-Up.”

Hermione flung her hands into the air. “Does everyone know I drank too much last night? Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Draco and Severus answered at the same time.

Hermione shook her head and waved as Draco headed for the lifts. She packed away their things at the desk and then, out of tasks to keep her busy, waited in the awkward silence. Just as she was about to make a run for the lift herself, Severus spoke.

“Why _did_ you overindulge last night?” he asked.

“Oh, um, as to that, well you see—”

“The real reason. If you please.” His tone was firm but kind.

Hermione sighed and her gaze skittered around the Atrium. She found it was easier to answer him if she didn’t have to look at him. “I bungled it, Severus. After we kissed, I meant to—to find out what you wanted the next steps to be, and instead I—instead it’s just awkward now, and I still don’t have any answers—”

“Ah. Lack of answers.” He nodded once, then stood. “I see why you’re so out of sorts today. Follow me.”

He strode off down the hallway and Hermione gaped after him. What was it with the men in her life today? Just barging in and being loud, then teasing her mercilessly, and Draco telling her she looked as hungover as she felt...

“Granger!” Severus barked, and Hermione jumped. Out of instinct, her body responded and hurried to catch up to him, even as her mind was trying to decide if she wanted to be obedient or not. Her curiosity won out, however, and by the time she joined him, she had decided to forgive the authoritative tone.

“Where are we going?”

“I hardly wish to have your talk in the Atrium,” Severus explained.

“Oh. Good point.” They continued in silence until Severus shoved open a door and gestured for her to precede him. The room was a small, tidy study with a few armchairs and a sofa clustered around a single-log fireplace. Bookshelves and cabinets lined two walls. It was clean but had the odor and appearance of a room that went largely unused. Hermione brushed her hand over the smooth surface of a table as she scanned the room for alternate exits, hidden traps, or problematic people. Seeing none, she completed her assessment and faced Severus.

Intent as she was on having their What Does This Mean conversation, she was equally curious as to how she’d never found this particular room during her explorations. “How did you find this—”

But Severus had other ideas. In two strides he was in front of her, cupping her face gently in his hands and taking her lips in a hungry kiss. Her mind, still a bit sluggish, struggled to make the switch from Important Conversation to Snogging. Her body, however, had no such qualms and melted into him. Hermione gripped his shoulders as her knees went weak. Severus released her face to grasp her hips and lift her onto the table, kissing her all the while. A needy sound escaped her and Hermione broke their kiss with a soft gasp.

“Alright. Now you can re-do your attempt at your talk.” Severus’ face was flushed and he was slightly out of breath, which did nothing at all to help clear Hermione’s head.

“Actually, I think I’m rather...too flustered. I don’t remember what I wanted to say.” She licked her lips and watched his eyes drop to her mouth. An idea came to mind... “Why don’t we try the whole thing again?”

Severus’ eyes, already nearly black, appeared to darken even more. “As many times as you need,” he promised in a growl that had her nipples perking up immediately. She didn’t have much time to consider that, however, because he was already kissing her again, this time tipping her head back and licking at her lips. Her mouth opened on a moan and then his tongue was delving inside. She thrust her hands into his hair and anchored him to her as she sucked on his tongue, and now it was he who moaned. All too soon, he broke their kiss. This time he didn’t move away, simply stared into her eyes. “What about now?” he rasped.

Hermione shook her head _no_ and meet him halfway when he dove back down to kiss her. Wanting to feel more of him, Hermione spread her legs wider and scooted towards the edge of the table. Severus’ hands slid down her back to her hips and jerked her forward until she was flush against his erection. They both groaned, and then Severus’ hands were everywhere as he stroked and gripped and squeezed every part of her that he could reach. Hermione hooked a leg around his waist and pulled him with her as she laid back on the table. His mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck to her collarbone. He pulled the neckline of her jumper aside and bit her lightly at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, causing her thighs to clamp around him.

Hermione made her own path of nips and kisses down the unscarred side of throat. She reveled in the feel of his skin beneath her lips, and she wondered what the rest of him would feel like. His hair was silky between her fingers and she tugged gently, trying to get his mouth back up to hers. He let her pull him back for more drugging kisses, until he raised his head enough to stare intently down at her. His hands slid to her breasts, plumping them together, and his thumbs stroked once over her nipples.

“Please, Severus,” she begged, undulating her hips against him, straining against their clothing and her less than ideal position on the table.

Abruptly, he stood, pulling her to her feet. “I’m too old for table sex,” he announced, grasping her hand and dragging her toward the door. For her part, Hermione was so focused on the fact that he was saying they were going to have sex she didn’t particularly care where they had it. Mentally she catalogued their options—her flat, his flat, anywhere with a door that locked, an abandoned alleyway...

Severus wrenched open the door, came to a sudden stop, then slammed it shut again. Hermione nearly crashed into his back. “Severus, what—”

He spun to face her. “Fennica.”

“We can talk to her later!” Hermione tugged on his hand, intending to go around him and get back to the pursuit of sex. But Severus didn’t budge.

“I meant, Fennica Foxglove is standing in the hallway.”

Hermione’s desire died a quick death, and she blew out a frustrated breath. “Shit.”

* * *

A/N: Credit to Ardina Falconhurst for the line, “I didn’t expect my new job to leave me sitting at the old one.” Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> This was an abandoned sshg_giftfest 2019 fic for @madeleone...I regret that I didn't finish it then, but inspiration is coming back to me now! 
> 
> prompt: 6-Severus and Hermione both work at ministry (doing whatever you like) and both hates his/her job. The two run into each other and start venting about their jobs. They decide to start their own business together, romance ensues. Would prefer it be something different, ie: not potions or teaching.


End file.
